


Footprints

by DigitalWerewolf



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery, Paranoia, Post-Movie(s), Psychological Trauma, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:20:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 161,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5080987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DigitalWerewolf/pseuds/DigitalWerewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After waking up in a hospital, Adam is left alone, without Lawrence, without anyone to trust. Fearful of every shadow, will he ever recover from the nightmare and walk away a sane man? Adam refuses to believe that he will ever be the same. He does the only thing he can that makes sense; he runs. But what are these mysterious clues? Has Jigsaw found him after all, or has a new game begun?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Adam In The Hospital

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a rewrite of an old fic I did years ago, but evolved quickly in to something different. I was going for realism; so this might not progress as quickly as you might hope. Stay tuned in you're interested. (Lawrence first appears in chapter ten)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lawrence Gordon appears in chapter ten, if you'd rather skip. Just FYI.

What was left? What was left of Adam Faulkner’s life that hadn't been taken from him?

When the light came on, he screamed. The sickening yellow overhead fluorescent assaulted his senses like a battering ram; his brain, ever altered from his experience, was in no condition to command his body in a suitable way. Soon after his outburst the nurses rushed in the hospital room, armed with implements, dressed in white.

The young man recoiled on the soiled mattress, thrashed and yelled.

The nurses, looked like him, in his eyes.

“No,” he shouted. “Get that thing away from me!”

Following the soft shatter of a syringe breaking against the hard floor, the nurses’ arms came to restrain Adam in his bed; their arms, seizing his and his legs, pinning him down while a particularly unpleasant and large nurse, Betty, came with her bloated fingers clutching a huge and frightening needle.

Adam clenched his stomach muscles in revolt of the thick, shiny needle as it hovered over him threateningly. He was too weak to fight but that didn't mean that he would just lie there and let this happen. Not again.

As he watched, hypnotised by the glint of pale light on the edge of sharp steel, blackness passed before his eyes, then nothing else.

Nothing else for fourteen hours.

Three days later, Adam had somewhat come to understand.

He was in a hospital, an actual hospital. Weird. He'd never been a patient before. His throat felt scratchy and dry. Looking to his side, the small but sturdy table, he saw a plastic beaker of water and boy did it look tempting. But when he tried to move, he hissed. Pain radiated through him like his skin was on fire. His head hurt too, but not as much as his shoulder.

The bullet wound wasn't bleeding it seemed, judging by the clean bandages across his chest, but every muscle he moved seemed to cause a sharp stabbing pain right though it. It sat on him like a cancerous tissue, heavy and corrupt, mocking him. A reminder that would forever be emblazoned on his skin of the nightmare.

With a hand to his mouth, he began to sob helplessly.

Faces, ghosts flashed behind his closed eyelids. Twisted forms like a surrealist painting, reaching limbs like dark wraiths to…

Adam wailed weakly, and immediately opened his eyes.

No. He would not let them get him again, even if it meant never sleeping again—he would do it, and not anyone but that fucking needle could convince him otherwise.

Stubbornly, he reached for the water—no longer thirsty, but in need of a distraction—and scraped bruised fingertips against the plastic. He guessed they didn't allow glass in here, like children were only allowed plastic scissors. He brought it to his dry, cracked lips moments later with shaky hands. It was warm, and tasted strongly metallic. He wanted to puke, but settled for two solid mouthfuls before spitting the foul water all over himself.

He wanted to laugh, but all that came out was a single, hoarse cough.

“Son of a bitch,” he gasped.

Was this place trying to kill him?

He half-wanted out, and back in to that dingy bathroom, where at least he knew the malevolent intent of the place. Here, it was… confusing as hell. He wanted to know what happened between then… and now.

Was there even a now?

Adam gripped his hair and tugged painfully. He needed to get a grip, he told himself; a grip on reality… show them I'm sane, so they don't put me to sleep again. I need to get out of here, and they aren't just gonna let that happen in my condition. Plus, he wasn't sure if his brain was connected properly, what with the druggings. His body was full of aches and pains, and he would have not been surprised if his legs would haven given out if he tried to stand on hem.

Legs. Shit.

He remembered that guy… Lawrence, he recalled with some doubt, and then thought, with some guilt and self-loathing, that he still at least had legs to stand on, unlike Lawrence.

Whiny bitch, he laughed, again unsuccessfully. I get a little shellshocked and the guy’s probably wheelchair bound for the rest of his life. Because of that evil, sadistic bastard.

When he pulled his hands from his hair, he sneered with disgust, feeling the greasiness on his hair rub off on his fingers. He sniffed. Shit. It makes sense, I must not have reached the sponge bath stage yet, he thought bitterly. He was still caked with grime and dirt from that fucking place. Still, he'd rather be greasy than have those damn nurses hovering over him again.

There was no sunshine through the window, he could see, but he could just feel that it was daytime. The heavy grey clouds and rain pattering on the glass did not disguise enough the hustle and bustle throughout the building; outside his room he heard the wheels of stretchers and gurneys and endless chatter of nurses.

“Hello,” he started yelling. “Can I get some help?”

After a pretty long wait, a young nurse with tired eyes poked her head around the door.

“Yeah, uh, I'll have the what does it take to get out of here, with a side order of hurry up, please, thanks.”

The nurse gave him a half-smile, the sort of smile that illicited sympathy with a dose of irritation. “Just a few moments—the doctors are making their rounds. I'll make sure they know you are well enough to be seen.”

“Oh, Jesus,” he rolled his eyes, then just waved his hand and spoke in a too-loud higher than normal voice, “Thank you.”

It hurt like all hell, but by the time the doctor arrived, Adam was already in the process of trying to find his clothes and sneak out of there. However, when she walked in to the room, she found him falling from he bed on to he floor—too late to catch him.

“Ahh, shit,” he screamed, on the verge of tears as a searing, Terrible pain shot through his wound and chest like a shotgun blast.

“Damnit,” breathed doctor Thompson, her finger pointing, directing a nearby nurse to the room quickly while she herself dashed to the bedside, scooping up Adam by his arm.

Adam bit his lip, too embarrassed to speak, too much in pain to cry. The floor stank of sterilisers, and he could see up the doctor’s skirt, but none of that mattered. It took two nurses to drag his limp ass back on to the bed.

Doctor Thompson, a pretty yet unremarkable woman in her forties, checked his chart.

Adam, once upon the bed, lay splayed out and breathing loud and heavy. He wasn't in control of the body he once had; he was frailer, smaller, weaker. It would take a long time, he realised with despair, until he was well enough to be released.

Released to where? He thought with some panic. No doubt his apartment manager would have locked the doors by now if not entirely demolished his place and sold his stuff to pay for the rent he owed while in here. Shit, he didn't even want to go back there. How could he? The darkroom still made him shudder to think about.

“Adam,” came a quiet voice.

Adam looked up.

The doctor was sitting at the edge of his bed, looking down at him with caring blue eyes. She had dark curly hair—Adam reckoned she was Jewish—and a wedding band on her finger, he noticed as she reapplied his bandages and dressed his wound. It had opened up again and began bleeding red-yellow against the white.

“You're very quiet this morning,” she mused, with a smile.

Adam had no reason to, but he trusted her. She seemed good-intentioned and had a sense of humour perhaps too subtle to be detected by most. He winced where she touched him and when she noticed this, she moved more carefully. She was reading his responses carefully, so not to disturb him any more than necessary.

“Sorry, should I be whooping and hollering for joy?”

“I suppose not,” she said, perfectly civil, as she tied off the bandages. “It's a nice change, is what I meant—usually when I come by here, you're kicking and screaming at the nurses so bad that we have to sedate you.”

“Yeah? Wait until I'm better if you want something to kick and scream about.”

They shared a smile, though the silence said neither really understood what that meant.

As professional as she could have, she reset the patient’s wounds. Wounds. He had bruises that she merely checked on, but did nothing about. She changed Adam’s water and had a nurse quickly wash him with a cloth where the blood had seeped. The whole process took about five minutes.

“So, when can I get out of here?” He asked resignedly.

“Whoa—I don't think we're in any state of readiness to be talking about that yet. A lot of people besides myself want to talk to you. In case you forgot, you've experienced something extremely traumatic.”

Adam sighed. “You know about that, huh?”

The doctor gave him a crooked smile. “Of course, it's all over the news.”

“Right,” he groaned in to his hands. “Who else?”

For a moment, she did a double-take at him from the clipboard she had occupied her hands with. “Excuse me?”

“Others—you talked about people wanting to talk to me,” he reminded, getting a headache, rubbing his temples emphatically.

“Oh, yes… well,” she hesitated telling him. “The police, for one…”

It felt like a punch in the gut.

“Oh, right. The killings and shit.”

He'd not forgotten, and scarce needed reminded of such horror, but even so, just as things felt halfway normal, he would be sent spiralling back to the dark world known as earth. There was a lot of questions that needed answering, but Adam didn’t care to know those answers, he just wanted to be left alone to forget about it all and move on.

“I suppose it was childish, huh?” He asked, out of the blue.

When she only gave him another quizzical look, he went on.

“To think that not talking about it means that none of it happened, right? Like putting ones hand over ones eyes… or something like that—I don't fucking know. I guess I have to face up to it eventually, don't I?”

His eyes were pale, almost pleading with her to say something comforting.

“I guess so,” was all she could manage. She stood up and made to leave. “I'll be checking up on you throughout the day, Adam,” she said warmly as she lay one hand on his arm. When he flinched, she pulled it back and smiled. “I know you need familiarity right now; faces you can count on. I won't be informing the police of your recovery until you are absolutely sure you are ready to talk to them. Until then, it is my responsibility to make sure you don't fall on your ass out of bed, okay?”

Adam looked away and nodded sharply.

“Wait!” He suddenly called as she lay her hand in the door.

Startled, the doctor turned back. “What is it?”

“W-what about Lawrence—that guy who shot me? Is he here too, is he okay?”

“Shot you?” She seemed surprised.

Enthusiastically nodding, almost falling out of the bed again, Adam responded: “Yes, what are you, deaf? Wait—he's a doctor, I think—Lawrence… Lawrence… Doctor Gordon; his name is Lawrence Gordon, is he here?”

Somehow dredging the memories he vowed to never dredge, he suddenly remembered the older man; neat on the outside, dirty on the inside. He remembered following him, taking pictures… seeing him with a woman other than his wife… Lying, cheating, heroic. He took it hard, there in the bathroom trap—more than Adam. All the while, the good doctor Gordon was calmly reassuring Adam they would be alright, while inside he was twice as messed up. He snapped, quite spectacularly, sawed off a limb of his own and shot Adam out of madness and desperation. Promised he'd be back with help for him.

Adam was shaking, bleeding.

Just having beat to death a conspirator to their captor. Killed a man—a man who was a victim, just like them caught in some barbaric game.

Lawrence crawled over, gushing blood, caught Adam in his fit of rage; promised it would be okay—they would be okay—that he should just hang tight and wait for him to send help.

Adam cried, begged… Don't leave me…

“Adam, are you still with me?”

The doctor—Thompson, not Gordon—broke him out of his harrowing recollection.

“Are you freaking kidding me? I need to get out of here…”

“Adam, wait,” she began, getting back to his side to secure his position. “I already told you—this man you were rescued with, was fine, or so I heard. He's at the hospital across state, specialising in his… condition. You had a minor bullet wound and some malnutrition, he was clinging to life. So, no, I can't tell you if he pulled through, but from what I heard…”

Adam didn't calm by her words.

“Please, you gotta find out for me—I'll be the biggest asshole you've ever met if you don't: if you thought I could kick and scream before, just wait until you see me now.”

Holding up her hands in defeat, she nodded. “Okay—fine, fine, I can get someone on that for you, but really… you must, and I can't stress this enough, you must get some bed rest.”

As she made to leave again, more impatiently this time, Adam called her again.

“I know,” she hushed. “Doctor Gordon, you said his name was? Lawrence?”

Adam nodded, relieved, rested back on the bed.

She smiled at him, rapped her knuckles on the door, and left to complete her rounds, which were already lagging.

Adam hoped she would keep her promise.

 

When Adam was told the news several hours later, he was in shock.

“Doctor Lawrence Gordon,” she informed him, sombrely. “Is dead.”

He told her that he needed to be alone; she nodded, squeezed his hand and left.

It was a lot to take in, this news, and a terrible strain on his conscience. Had Lawrence gone out of his way to get help that day? Had he spent precious seconds speaking Adam’s name those few times? Adam cried, very hard, very quiet, very dry tears. It only lasted a few seconds but the pain, he knew, would last much longer than the bullet wound on his chest.

Later, he discovered that the doctors had done all they could, but Lawrence died after several hasty operations at a hospital; no word about his wife or daughter.

“Have you tried contacting them?” He asked, with much less enthusiasm.

“Yes,” she said carefully. “As I expected you'd want me to. But…”

“But what—but what, huh?” He shouted.

The outburst, went unheeded by the doctor, who merely continued.

“—but I was unable to. In fact, the hospital was very hush-hush, we are very strict about that kind of thing, you know. Anyway, I made a few dark calls and found that they were checked out a day after Lawrence's death. Digging a little deeper I found the names of several police officers who questioned and then released them. They assured me that Allison and Diana are fine, and have moved out of state to live with her parents.”

Adam, having no reason to distrust his doctor, leaned back, and swallowed it—though he wasn't at all happy; Lawrence: dead, and his family gone. And he all by himself, the only one left to confide his terrible experience to. He wanted to scream his frustration, but then, would anyone really even hear?

“So, that's it, then? I'm stuck here by myself, with a crazed nutcase probably wanting to finish what he started and—“

“I'm glad you think so highly of our security here,” she interrupted, trying to reassure.

“You don't understand,” he said, voice raised, excited again. “This guy, man… He has ways of getting to people, to make them do… anything! You think some cameras and big guys called MarySue can scare someone already scared shitless?”

“Hey, I wouldn't dare doubt it, but this room—yours is being watched twenty-four-seven, police guards day and night. I seriously doubt anyone, forgive my bluntness, would want to take another shot at you in such an obvious way as abducting you from your hospital room, miles from where you were found, days after you were recovered.”

Adam laughed, humourlessly. “You weren't there…”

“True, but I know from common sense that—“

Adam interrupted, with near-violent aggression. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? Did you hear me? Are you listening at all? I don't care what you or the police say; no one is safe from this guy--he's in-fucking-sane! Don't you get that?”

“I get that,” she said with no small hint of exhaustion. “But at the same time, I am a doctor, and I see too much on a daily basis to not have a little faith and ask why this place isn't imploding from all the horror we see. As it turns out, things aren't quite so dire.”

“Fucking sunny bitch,” he said spitefully.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, unperturbed. “I have to be.”

 

A day later, Adam was eagerly out of the hospital bed and moving around. It hurt like hell but his desperation to leave, to not be a sitting duck, overrode his body’s objections. He wanted, more than anything else, to be away from that damn hospital and away from everything. It was the everything that haunted him; the vacant hole that was his existence was slowly filling with so much darkness that he was afraid he would never be the same.

“Come on, Doc,” he said, halfway down a dark hallway. “You can see: I'm good on my own—Ahh!”

With a calm sympathy the doctor took Adam by the arm and steadied him; by the way he was clutching his chest, she knew his recovery was not nearly as progressed as he professed—as she suspected—but his desperation was clear.

“You suffered a bullet wound,” she reminded, needlessly, looking Adam in the eyed. “I cannot, based on your word, allow your release from this hospital. Trust me, these kind of things are difficult to cure, and you were very lucky. But there comes a time when you can't run on luck alone; you need to take it slow, otherwise you'll open your wound again and we'll have to start your recovery all over again. You may be able to walk, but I don't recommend it. You need rest to let your body heal, Adam.”

“I know,” said Adam, rolling his eyes. “I know… Damnit…”

It was like he was a child being scalded by his mother; his eyes focuses on the floor and his fidgety fingers played with the high sleeves of his t-shirt. She was a good doctor, and he trusted her opinion, but… there was only one doctor he really trusted, and he was dead.

The stinging in his eyes came immediately, and he raised his hand to his face just to stop the sudden irrational outburst of emotion. His chest ached with loss as well as pain, and he was only thankful for the fact that the hallway was so dark and deserted that there was only the two of them to see Adam cry.

“Hey,” she softened, and took him by the arms, gently persuading him to lower them. Again, she addressed him with much compassion. “I promise, I will get you out of here. It's a hospital, not a hotel, and as soon as you're well, I will be the first to push you out of here. We need the beds, frankly, and the quicker we can get you fixed, the sooner I know I've done my job. I can't do that unless you work with me. Okay?”

Adam nodded, though he couldn't help but feel a little like a number.

Back in his room, under guard, two guests greeted Adam.

“What's this?” He drawled, unhappily. “Feds? Just what I need, suits.”

Helped on to his bed, though he was fully capable of doing that himself, he sat up and crossed his arms over his chest defensively. He was determined to make this as difficult for them as humanly possible.

“We're with the FBI, Mr Faulkner—”

“—a bit late, aren't you?”

“I'm sorry?” Asked the older Agent, a man in his forties, black, and very tired; he didn't look like he would put up with any bullshit for too long.

“I'm sorry? I'm sorry—or did you come to tell me that what happened to me was all a dream and I'm just an angry young man? No? Then I'll accept no apologies from you—or any asshole with a badge who sees in black and white.”

“That's not what I—”

“Let me guess,” Adam straightened. He was excitable; enthusiastically waving his arms. “You want to ask me a few questions. Me. As if you didn't know all the answers anyway. Fine. But you gotta answer something for me, first.”

The agent’s partner tried to interrupt, but Adam was too quick; she was left with her finger hanging, and then drooping.

“Where the fuck were you, huh? Where were you when I was abducted by that twisted freak and made to play his sick games like some kind of lab rat? Where were you when he took Lawrence and his wife and little girl and watched and laughed while we all screamed? Where are you—now—when he's out there… probably doing it all over again? You are here. Questioning me, because you don't know what else to do. Am I right? Because you still are clueless fucks who lets this guy get away every single time. Do you even know where he is? Hell, he's probably scoping out your houses and families right now. Wouldn't that put it all in perspective, huh?”

Adam was red-faced, sweating. Finally he seemed to get control of his emotions. He ran his hands over his face, exhaled and ran his fingers back over through his hair as he leaned back as far as he could go. He was shaking.

“Are you done?” Asked the older agent.

Adam said nothing, just sat there with his legs out in front of him and his eyes closed.

“Because as it happens we do have questions, but we also have updates which concern you.”

“What a surprise.”

“Excuse me,” interrupted doctor Thompson quietly. “But I am this man’s doctor, and I didn't authorise any visitation from you, or the police. In fact, I don't remember being informed in advance, as is procedure. Can this not wait until he is of sound health?”

“Gee, I don't know,” began the agent, standing over the bed. “He seems fine to me. More than capable of answering a few questions. Are you?”

The doctor looked as though she had something to say, but bit her lip and stood back.

“Let's get this over with,” groaned Adam, inwardly.

Nodding to each other, the younger agent brought out her notebook, and began writing.

After asking some standard questions, Adam was becoming irate.

“And what does that have to do with anything?” He shouted. “Look, I’ll tell you what I know: I was in my apartment, it was dark and someone grabbed me. I woke up in some shitty industrial bathroom, the kind that looks like it might have been used to film some kinky porno—but I’m sure you’re more the expert in that. At first, I was in a bathtub and it was dark… I screamed about having my kidneys or whatever stolen—they do that, you know… one moment your alone in your apartment, the next you awake in a tub of ice without even a second date. This guy… Jigsaw, or whatever the fuck you people call him, he’d took another guy,” Adam breathed slowly, and looked down, away from all eyes.

“Lawrence Gordon?” The older agent added.

Adam nodded. “Yup, that’s him… brave, good guy, died helping me, you should have heard of him. You’re doing a shitty job if not.”

At that, the FBI agents looked at each other, sharing looks that Adam did not quite understand when he looked in their direction. They were sitting now, by his bedside in little plastic chairs. Tight-lipped about something—Adam didn’t care to ask, he just wanted them gone, gone and far away from him.

“Anyway,” he continued. “We were forced to do… things… I don’t really recall right now, but I’m sure you can figure out the details at the crime scene. Someone was watching us. Lawrence worked out that it was some guy who worked at the hospital with him. I tell you, like fucking lab rats.”

“Mr Faulkner,” the female agent interrupted. “Do you have a name to the man you killed?”

Adam paused.

Shit, he thought. I killed a guy. I did. I fucking killed a guy… bashed his brains in.

He started to cry again, but held it back this time.

“Yeah,” he nodded exasperatingly. “Yeah, I do. Zep, I think.”

“Zep Hindle?” She asked.

Adam shook his head. “I guess? I don’t know his full name.”

“And your story tells that you attacked him out of self-defence, after you were shot by Dr Gordon—also as self-defence?”

“Yes,” Adam made a cry of disbelief. “What’s so hard about that to understand, huh? Lawrence cut off his own fucking foot to get the gun to kill me, because he thought it was what Zep wanted so he could save his family… but… but I don’t know. I guess Zep didn’t like the way things were going or something; he—he came in—with a gun—and went after Lawrence, but I—I grabbed him, and—and…”

Adam’s breathing reached an unhealthy rate, and he needed a moment to compose himself. Digging his fingers of his hand against the wound, he brought his knees to his chest and closed his eyes and rocked back and forth, recalling the horrible scene as well as he could.

“And I was alive. I guess Lawrence only missed because of the state he was in or he never intended to kill me, I don’t know, but I was angry—fucking angry—I killed him, Zep, but I had not choice! He was gonna kill him unless I did something, and the only thing I could get hold of was… the chunk of toilet… I… I didn’t know what else to do, I thought I was dead, I thought everything was some fucked up plane of existence where I could live through a bullet wound and I could hit a guy and he no wind up dead. I couldn’t fucking stop hitting him.”

The story ended with Adam crying deeply, with his face between his knees.

The two FBI agents gave him a few moments.

“Lawrence stopped me… he grabbed me and said it was okay, and that he’d go and get help… I wanted him to stay, I begged him to not leave me. I was so fucking scared. But… but he left, and he did… what he had to do, I guess. But I was still hurt. Losing blood, I don’t remember how long it was before help came. All I remember was being taken out of there, and waking up here.”

“You were very lucky,” said the doctor, coming out from her place at the back of the room.

“No, I wasn’t… Lawrence was lucky. He got to die.”

A heavy silence fell on the room, and it was only broke when Adam lifted his head and spoke, looking directly at the older agent, who was as sombre as one might expect someone to be after a story such as his.

“You mentioned updates? Am I being charged for anything?”

“Not yet,” said the agent, looking down at his pad.

“Not yet?” Adam scoffed. “That’s justice for you. Don’t know who else to blame so you pick the easy target. Someone who has nothing left to live for. Bastards. He’s still out there. He’s still out there and you’re here, why?”

The agent exhaled through his nose and stood.

“There is a state-wide manhunt for this killer, and he is a killer, despite what he might think. You are no killer, Mr Faulkner, but in the unlikely event that you will be charged for Mr Hindle’s murder, I suggest you get a lawyer.”

Adam scoffed again, and rolled his eyes.

“Will you catch him?” Asked doctor Thompson.

The agents both looked at her, in unison.

“We can’t answer that, ma’am.”

The older agent looked back to Adam as the female agent stood and moved towards the door with the doctor while she motioned she would like to speak with her outside. They closed the door behind them.

“It is as you said, unfortunately. Right now, all resources are being thrown in to catching him, but it seems unlikely at this stage that he’ll be caught, unless he slips up and does something stupid. Now, I must tell you, that Gordon, before his passing, proclaimed quite adamantly after we’d been informed of your rescue, that he is the man that shot Mr Hindle. We suspected this to be false, as he only came forward with this at the very moment he was mentioned in relation to your story. You shot him, you’ve admitted as much now, but I personally doubt that there will be any fallout for this for you.”

“Wait—what?” Adam sat up. “Lawrence tried to take the blame for me?”

The agent nodded.

“It made sense. He’d already mentioned he shot you. It seemed highly plausible that he might have shot this man Zep as well. But the position of the body and mode of death made his confession bluntly inconsistent. We didn’t need to examine the crime scene to tell us that, though, we suspected his confession to be false right away by his insistence and demeanour, especially so close to the edge that he was.”

“You met him? When? How did he look?”

The agent raised his brow.

“I don’t think any of that matters now, but…”

“Tell me,” argued Adam coming forward on his hands and knees, braced.

“If you want to know. He looked fine.”

Adam was left completely thrown by this, but before he could ask what happened, the agent was already at the door, leaving a card on the table beside the bed.

It read: Reginald Jerome, FBI, followed by contact details in bold script.

“If you remember anything else.”

When doctor Thomson returned, Adam asked her what they spoke about outside. She informed him that the agent only wanted details of Adam’s condition and what medication he was currently on; which was painkillers, nothing more. They told her that they had no more questions for her patient and that she was free to release him on her own volition.

Adam ate hospital food and slept in that same bed for an agonising two days before this happened.


	2. First Footprint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam leaves the hospital and returns home.

Adam had not set foot in his apartment since that hellish night when evil tainted it. So, it was an almighty blow when he finally returned from his extended, mandatory stay at the hospital where he recovered from a gunshot wound.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he stepped over the broken glass of a fallen lamp.

“Holy shit,” he breathed quietly.

From behind him, entered his doctor, closely applying pressure behind him.

The place was… Different. Darkened by what had happened. Glass on the floor, dust over every visible surface. It was very shadowed. They seemed to move upon his entrance in to the room, stretching out with ethereal fingers to touch and to sniff him like ethereal guard dogs. 

He felt sick, seeing the door to what was his darkroom, thrown open.

Remembering everything, he ran out and in to the hallway, pushing aside the doctor as he urgently fled the scene.

Stepping out after, she called his name, surprised.

“I… I can't,” he said, turning and walking backwards. “I can't stay here…”

Before she could stop him, Adam was outside again.

The city air hit his lungs like a freight train, and he doubled over against a wall, vomiting all over the floor and spattering on his shoes. Like that he stayed, breathing in as much as he could with shaky, uneasy breaths. He wasn't safe here, he could feel it.

Inside, doctor Thompson, dissuaded by her instincts, opted to let Adam be; he must have felt very boxed in, he didn't need her breathing down his neck. Even in his condition, he was more broken mentally than physically, and she was no psychologist. In fact, she had accompanied the man under the only reasonable pretext; for moral support. But if Adam had no intention to remain in his old housing, then she would have to intervene, as a doctor. After all, she couldn't leave him wandering the street.

Stepping inside the room, her eyes followed with some curiosity to the door she passed through. It seemed to be a room used for developing photographs… A darkroom, she remembered from a boyfriend in med school. Stepping in to the room, she saw immediately that things were in a poor state, and when she flipped on the red light, she saw with clarity Adam’s fears; his dubious line of work lay at her feet and scattered over surfaces. 

The photographs were varied, and some were useful while others were overexposed. 

She picked up one, the only one, hung by a peg. It was of Lawrence.

“Adam,” she asked when they reunited outside. She presented him with the photograph.

“Yeah,” at first he was stood with his hands on the wall, but when he turned and saw what she held, he turned back and retched again. “Put that away… I don't wanna see it.”

“Is this what you did that got you in to trouble?” She asked.

Adam groaned, “What do you think?”

Seemingly irritated, the woman crossed her arms and buried the photograph in her coat.

“I think that you are too afraid to face what happened—any of it—and that this place, and everything it holds serves as a brutal wake up call. You may want to keep your eyes shut but you shouldn't let it win over you. You are the only one that can make your life yours again.”

“You sound like my counsellor in high school,” he scoffed.

A few moments passed; a woman walking her child gave Adam a scornful look, assuming him to be a drunk.

“What does this mean?” She asked.

Reluctantly, he turned his head at the sound of rustling. She hat turned the white back of the photograph was facing him.

On the back, drawn in red ink was a symbol—something Adam had never seen before: a circle with a thick circumference and containing two parallel lines and streaked with a lightning bolt crossing through the image diagonally.

Adam scrutinised the image. He frowned and slowly shook his head.

“N—no—I didn't do that,” he said, coming away from the wall.

He snatched the photograph from her hands and put it in front of his own face. Injected with sudden energy, he immediately scanned the image on both sides.

“I didn't do that. Someone else must have.”

Surprising even himself, Adam strode straight passed her and right in to the building.

At once he clamoured through the Darkroom’s contents, picking up photograph after photograph from off the floor, looking at the front and reverse. But none of them bore the same mark as on the one he held.

When the doctor rejoined him, she found that he had torn the place apart; thrown everything from the darkroom out in to the light of the room.

“There's nothing,” he was repeating.

“Adam, is there something you'd like to talk about?”

Adam sighed loudly and emerged from his searching no calmer. He clutched the photograph and stared at the symbol very closely for a long time, ignoring any questions put to him. Then he turned it over and looked at the other side. It was of Lawrence Gordon: incognito but very definitely Lawrence Gordon, meeting the woman he had been conducting an affair with. A student, he assumed, looking to make it by sleeping with a doctor. The photograph had been, regretfully taken by Adam himself.

“It's him,” he said suddenly.

“Excuse me?” She asked, still standing by the open door.

In a startling moment he turned to her and practically charged.

“Him!” He shouted with shaky determination. “Sick bastard… he… he must've been here… and knew I was coming back. He must be… oh, shit…”

Recognising the symptoms of a panic attack, doctor Thompson approached Adam quickly but cautiously; it was very important not to give him reason to overreact.

“He's been here and he's watching me, oh god, oh god, I can't believe it… no, no, no…”

“Adam, I want you to look at me,” she said firmly.

The man’s pupils had expanded dramatically to his state of fear, and he had begun to perspire profusely.

She had taken hold of his arms and tried to keep him steady.

He was shaking.

“Look at me, Adam,” she said, softly, directing his attention. “I need you to think about what you are saying. If you truly believe that, then you need to call the police—they have men patrolling this street day and night. They can tell you if anyone was seen entering your apartment. And the apartment manager, surely they will know of any forced entry—”

“No—no, you're not listening! He has people, who will do anything, because they're just like me: pathetic losers with no other choice but to do as he says. Police included can be bought, even you—”

It was then that some recognition came across his face; Adam saw the doctor as his enemy. They both saw it, but only she could answer his suspicions. He broke away from her without much resistance and made for the door, panting and plainly delusional. There was no chase.

“If you are serious, then I suggest you remind yourself why I am here: you asked me to be here, to help you, and I must insist that if you really are worried, then you call family, and call friends—anyone who might be able to help.”

“No,” he said.

“Please, I am telling you—”

“No, you are not telling me anything. You can't understand what I'm going through—what I've been through! I'm supposed to trust you? You're just another name, man, just another somebody who'll get caught up in his game too, hah, just you watch. You'd better leave—better get the fuck outta here, ‘cause hanging around me too long and something bad will happen.”

Not saying anything, the woman stood her ground.

Adam approached her with the photograph and held it in front of her.

“See this guy? His name was Lawrence; he was a doctor—just like you. He thought he could save me, just like you. You know what happened to him? He's fucking dead. Yeah, and you know what's coming next,” he looked around and stepped closer. “You'd better… better get away from me. I… I can take care of myself.”

He looked like he was ready to cry again, and swiftly turned his back on her, using his arm to cover his eyes.

“You know I can’t do that,” she said, sadly. 

“Jesus, what is with you doctors and your fucking sense of duty?”

Innocently, she asked: “Was doctor Gordon like that?”

He turned to her, eyes a little red.

“Don’t you,” he said, accusingly, pointing at her. “Talk about him.”

“Why not?” She asked, genuinely confused. “Touchy subject?”

Adam rolled his eyes, “no, I just don’t trust you; and I don’t confide in people I don’t trust, got it?”

She nodded, “got it, Adam. If it will make you feel better, then I will not mention it. I will just be a phone call away—if you need.”

 

Despite what he said, he was lonely—a loner who was lonely. He couldn’t stay in that building any longer. He followed her out in to the hall.

“Come on,” he said, striding passed her. “Let’s go find Steve before he goes missing.”

Amused, she cocked her head. “Steve?”

“The apartment manager,” Adam sighed, annoyed. “It was your idea, you really should keep up. “

Doctor Thompson hummed in recognition; really, she was surprised he was taking her up on her idea. Adam was a complex man and she doubted she would get much chance to figure out the mystery. She also had a hard time keeping up with Adam’s brisk pace; for a guy who just got out of hospital and recovering from a bullet wound, he was awfully fast.

As they arrived at the lower floor, Adam stopped in front of an office door. It was open and the light was on even though it was light already. Radio music blared through.

“Yo, Steve,” Adam shouted through the music.

He had walked straight in to the small room, and sat at the back with his back to them at a cluttered desk sat a man with thin white hair and tattoos on his arms. The man peered back over his shoulder at the voice, brows furrowed. When he saw Adam, his face changed to that of a sympathetic relief. He spun around on his chair and stood, roughly clutching Adam’s small frame.

“Holy, shit, man,” Adam squeaked. “You trying to kill me?”

“Sorry,” said the older man. 

He pulled away but kept a hand on his shoulder, making Adam wince in discomfort.

“I heard all about it,” he said quietly.

Already, Adam looked incredibly uncomfortable.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said waving off his arm. “I don’t wanna talk about it, thanks.”

“Oh,” he looked surprised. “Of course, of course, man, whatever.”

Taking advantage of the awkwardness, Steve went over to the desk where he turned off the radio and killed the throbbing tones of heavy metal. He then returned, but made a beeline for the door and to the doctor. He smiled a little exasperated, and reached for her hand. He was a big guy, but apparently friendly. On the walls were posters of pin-ups and motorcycles. A leather jacket hung over a chair in the corner.

“You his doc?” He asked.

They shook hands—his grip was rather tight.

“Yes, I am,” she said, rubbing her smaller hand once it was returned to her. “Doctor Lucy Thompson, nice to meet you Steve.”

“Steve Langley,” he said with a nervous grin.

“Steve,” Adam interrupted. “I’m gonna get straight to the point. Has anyone been on my place since I’ve been gone? Not given any cops keys are anything have you?”

The man looked at Adam, a little sheepishly, and backed up to his desk.

“Did you?” He asked again.

“Now that you mention is—”

Adam looked at the doctor and breathed through his nose.

"There was one guy, kinda suspicious: wore a hooded sweatshirt, kinda sickly lookin’. I saw him about a week ago. He was stuck in a wheelchair though and wasn’t exactly a pro, if you know what I mean; kept getting it stuck, crashing in to stuff. He looked like death on wheels, man, I tell you. He… um, kept shouting about needing to get in to your room. I told him that I couldn’t allow that. A day later, I woke up to some clattering. Someone broke in to your place, Adam, picked the lock, and trashed the place sorry, man. I thought he was just a pissed of dude you took pictures off—didn’t figure him to be the criminal type, not in that condition.”

“It might have been him,” said Adam biting his lip, staring at the floor.

“Him? As in him-him? That guy Jigsaw that all the papers are talking about? Same guy that took you from here? Well, fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Adam nodded, he took a seat, suddenly feeling weak.

“Sorry man, Adam, if I’d known…”

“It’s alright, Steve,” he said. “Hey—do you know what this means?”

Looking at the reverse-side of the photograph, at the symbol, he frowned.

“Nah, I don’t, sorry.”

Adam took back the picture and rolled it up.

“Why—does it mean something?”

“Hm,” Adam shook his head. “Nah, man… just… just me being crazy.”

Steve nodded and said nothing further.

“Listen,” Adam started, a little slowly. “I think I gotta get away from here—too much dark shit here. Maybe you can… sell some of the shit I got to make up what I owe you, and market the room as like haunted or something, get a few bucks. I just… can't, I really can't be in this building another night.”

“I get it,” said Steve. “But your bills are paid for.”

“What? No,” Adam protested. “You don't have to feel sorry for me—I don't need any charity.”

“That would be fine, except they've already been paid for—not by me.”

Adam frowned.

“Yeah, look…”

Gathering closer as Steve returned to fumble within a pile of papers on his desk. He emerged with a series of envelopes, easy addressed to the management and marked with Adam’s name and apartment number. Inside each one, Adam saw, were numerous bills.

Suitably confused, Adam thumbed through the bills before returning the small stack to the larger man.

“Wh-what does this mean?”

By now even doctor Thompson gathered to curiously observe the scene.

“Obviously,” she said. “You haven't done much of anything these weeks you've been incapacitated—someone else sent this money to pay off your debts here.”

Adam scratched his head, only to recoil at the stab of pain that movement brought. He looked at her with obvious suspicion.

“And no, before you ask, it wasn't me—or anyone at the hospital. But yes, if you're curious—we also received similar payments from this unknown source. You must have friends in high places, Mr Faulkner,” she noted with a slight amusement in her tone.

Adam barely acknowledged her, he was too engrossed with the unfolding predicament. She had moved to the door.

“I'm heading back to the hospital,” she said with a pleasant smile. “I'm a busy woman, after all.”

“Yeah, whatever,” said Adam dismissively. 

He had grabbed one of the envelopes and frantically searched it for a return address—anything that might have left clues as to who had paid off his outstanding debts. Some charitable soul, hearing his story on the news and wanting to remain anonymous, perhaps? Adam's brain was in overdrive.

“You have my number if you need to contact me; I'll be in touch to check up on you, on your condition and your situation. Hopefully it will all improve.”

“I seriously fucking doubt that,” he said.

Briefly she and he exchanged looks, dismaying looks that conveyed sympathy; she for him, and he for himself. But, she did as asked and left him alone even if it was against her better judgement. The doctor left the building and returned to the car parked outside which had escorted them there from the hospital, where she was bound to go back to work, leaving Adam to solve his own problems.

“Steve, how did this money get here? Like, by mail or did someone just slip it under the door? I can't believe anyone would do this…”

Steve shrugged, “just found them in the mail slot.”

Adam needed to think. He was sat there thinking all kinds of things but reaching no conclusion. His heart pounded in his chest so hard and fast that it hurt—actually hurt. Afraid for a moment that he might be having a heart attack, he got to his feet and paced up and down the office.

It felt strange, walking again. After being locked down in darkness, in chains, for days, nothing quite reached his sense of reality. He thought he would die down there like Zep, who casually rotted away by his side. He wondered if he'd be forced… to commit cannibalism, but unconsciousness from blood loss took hold of him first.

He screamed aloud and slammed his fists and face in to desk.

Steve kept his distance, wisely.

It felt good: he needed to shout out his anger, and he had a lot of it.

“So, eh, you're really leaving, huh?”

It took Adam a while to respond. He was thinking… feeling, letting the throb of pain settle back in to his body after the numbness. 

That bastard had been there, all along, thought Adam. Posing as a dead body in the middle of the room… listening to everything me and Lawrence said to each other… got off on our fear… then just walked away and left us both to die. I thought he'd kill me or Lawrence, but after those doors shut, I knew he'd had his fun.

Jigsaw had left them down there, no doubt crossing paths with the crawling oncologist who failed him. He wanted them both to suffer. He wanted Adam to see what was happening to his life and reexamine his priorities, and wanted Lawrence to pay for being the doctor who couldn't cure his terminal cancer. Utterly selfish, and hideously misguided. He even took Lawrence's family, symbolic, and forced him to listen to their screams.

Adam screamed his throat dry—again—he was used to it.

He asked Steve no more questions. The creeping paranoia set in again, forcing him to make his plans flesh sooner. He couldn't walk down the hallway without checking over his shoulder—this was to be his life from now on, what Jigsaw did for him.

Thanks, asshole.

Rebuffing the building’s manager’s offer of help, Adam returned to his room to collect a few things. He had no valuables, not really, no pictures of loved ones or faithful pet. In truth he did have ambitions, and this place—his apartment—was just a starting point. He wanted somewhere cheap while he made enough money to move on to greener pastures, but… It didn't quite work out that way, or that well. What little money he made, from his photography, was put in to bills and food. It didn't work out, and now, after all that'd happened... he never wanted to hold a camera again.

He smashed the cursed device in to pieces, threw it against walls and floors in an explosion of fury. Of course, he had others, but the this one was the one, the one that was tainted by his oh-so clean profession. He wasn't just destroying the camera, he was destroying that part of his life that had gotten so poisoned and jaded. He wanted it gone—the memories, and the loss—gone.

Hours passed.

Adam sat at the centre of the room, legs crossed, face in hands. He was crying, hiccuping. The sun was starting to go down… he was surrounded by belongings—he sat at the eye of the storm—clothes, documents, mementos. In his lap remained the photograph. He had been in the middle of gathering only the necessary, when he fell in a state of absolute misery upon the floor and wailed like one bereaved. He couldn't believe he was dead.

It took him a long time to pull himself out of it, eventually ending with him telling himself that it was bound to happen. He'd grown close to him but had found it hard to really let go and mourn, even though it was what he wanted. But because he missed him, it was no indication enough of Lawrence's impact on his life. People missed people, Adam missed Lawrence immeasurably, more than Lawrence would have missed his foot, had he survived. And yes, he wanted to forgot, he didn't want to talk about it, but Lawrence… he would have been there… and he would have understood how he was feeling. The doctors and the people around him did not have that unique perspective of first-hand experience.

Now there was no-one who might empathise with his pain. Adam was trapped, worse than ever. He needed a piece of Lawrence. He needed to follow those footprints before they faded forever and left him in the darkness.


	3. Adam On The Run

It was a mistake—a big fucking mistake.

Ever since hearing the news of Lawrence's death, Adam had been distraught, sure, but there was that part of him that could not accept it. It just didn't feel… right.

None of it was helping his own recovery, but then, he skipped town on such short notice, that he couldn't have told anyone his intention—his wild and potentially risky intention—but he felt safer far away from the point of where shit went down. And Florida was about as far away as he could get in his shitty car.

Alison Gordon had tried therapy, she had tried hypnosis… every rare and extraordinary device possible to make herself forget. But she was not an extraordinary woman, she believed in logic to the point of extreme cynicism. 

Adam Faulkner showing up on her parents’ doorstep was beyond logic.

When Adam came up with the plan to search out Lawrence's widow, he was on the road literally to nowhere. A full tank of gas generously donated by Steve the apartment manager, and a sack full of pain meds from doctor Thompson, he was on his way determined to get the hell out of town. It was a complete spur of the moment thing and partially fuelled by sheer curiosity.

He knew it would be a mistake, but as soon as he got the idea, it came as a click to him and just like that his mind went blank and his foot went down.

How did he find them?

The only information he'd received was from the FBI agent who'd spoken to him in the hospital, and again by phone at a rest stop when he filled up on gas and candy, and he advised against it. So, of course, he had to go. He said they had moved to Florida and that that info didn't come from him. He didn't tell the agent of the probable break-in at his apartment or where he was staying, but he did tell him to “chill out, you've got my number, it's not like I'm running away or anything—well, I am, but if it's that serious you can come drag my ass back, ‘cause I'm not—not going back.”

The agent only sighed and asked him, “what will you do, should you find them--Lawrence's family? And what will any of this solve?”

“To be honest: I ain't got a fucking clue, but it'll make me feel better. Keep my mind of shit and worry about something else. Isn't that supposed to be a good thing? I just… I don't know… need to see them, to see if their lives are any less shitty than mine. That makes sense to me.”

The agent went quiet on the phone.

Adam paid for a host of goods, and avoided eye contact all round, looking very suspicious in his nervous pace and poor social skills. But his money, or rather, the money that had been given to the apartment manager to pay for his outstanding debt and generously put in his hand out of sympathy, was accepted and he walked out of the place in one piece, carrying armfuls of purchases while balancing the phone at his ear.

“We think we might be closing in,” he caught the agent say. “On your kidnapper.”

“Listen, unless you're telling me the guy is a puddle of cancerous shit in a jar or something, I don't wanna hear it. Unless he's out of the fucking picture I ain't coming back.”

Adam reached his car, all the way there he was looking around, head swivelling like a hyperactive owl. He opened the stiff back door and threw the things across the back seat.

“Really, Mr Faulkner we can offer you protection—”

“I said: I don't wanna hear it!” He slammed the car door shut. “The guy even killed cops—fucking cops—do you think he's above killing Feds? Because I fucking don't. Offer me his toe tag fresh of his diseased corpse. That's the only protection I want.”

Adam hung up, in a fearful rage and got back in to the car, locked the doors, and screamed.

In the break between starting his engine and leaving the lot, he thought about Alison Gordon. He thought about her and Lawrence's daughter. It was indeed a mistake to chase them, after all they'd been through. The last they needed was the man hired to stalk her husband and take pictures saying hi. The idea was deceptively casual. Adam didn't do casual. This was important to him. He needed to meet them under less terrifying circumstances, to be able to say how sorry he was—for everything.

Of course, when he made his extensive journey across the states, he would still need to confirm their location. Plenty of time to back down and just forget the whole thing. He couldn't do that though. He owed Lawrence his life, and, since he wasn't available… 

…

“Mommy, will daddy be gone forever?” Asked the girl, sat in her mother’s lap, cradled by her protective embrace.

What could a mother say?

The sun beat down gloriously through the bay window of Alison's parent’s house where she sat facing the beach with Diana. It was a pretty scene, tainted only to those who looked closer, close enough to see the darkness that had torn this beautiful family and fed it to the Sharks. Close enough to see the cracks, still gaping from the trauma that ripped it wide open. If they looked that close, they would feel sympathy, they would shake their head and maybe even cry, but Alison felt nothing for them. All she felt, the very speck of emotion left in her not rattled to bits was for her daughter Diana. She would kill herself to make sure her baby had a normal life after what happened. She would let no one destroy her the way it did her mother and her father.

It was a large house and Wilson and Rita were more than happy to welcome their only daughter and delightful granddaughter in to their home. They were a little closed-minded. Never referring to what happened to them in great detail. It made them uncomfortable. She didn't care. As much as she would have loved to have someone to confide in, her focus now was purely unselfish. 

Therapy seemed to be working for Diana though, and Alison insisted in being present at all of the police interviews, the physical examinations, and the therapy sessions. She was a bright girl as Lawrence always said, but it was a lot for anyone—child or not—to go through. Alison had opted to keep her close, removing herself from the world of work to be a full-time carer for her child. She didn't want her to leave, so she moved across the country, taking her away from school, friends, the life she knew. It may have seemed cruel to those around but Diana asked no questions—she understood why. 

It wasn't much of a life for Alison any more, but she was determined to see her daughter in to a normal life, and if that meant sacrificing herself, she'd do it gladly. Three times a week, therapy, it improved Diana all the time, until the ghost shape of her old smile returned, and she began to ask questions.

Alison answered them all, truthfully and bluntly; it didn't raise anyone's opinion of her to lie, and she never lied to her child. And this time was no different.

Alison replied: “Of course not honey.”

…

The car was totalled—or so he was told.

Adam didn't know what happened.

One moment he was driving along, wide-awake, eager and on a mission; the next…

“Asshole!” The guy shouted.

“Hey, sorry, man,” Adam bargained, now out of his car and trying not to get his head bashed in by a tire iron. “It's been a long day.”

The guy came at him again but simmered down once the sound of a police highway patrolman’s siren came up behind them on the deserted highway. They guy promised to trade insurance details, Adam told him to “bite me,” and they parted ways by tow truck.

Of course, the car wasn't strictly totalled, but that was the ‘official’ diagnosis given by the surly, young mechanic, looking after the place while his uncle was ‘sleeping in’. Perhaps it was another mistake to flash the wad of cash around and insist on just taking care of the damage as soon as possible. The mechanic took that well, grabbing a fistful of cash without counting, stuffing it down his pants where Adam certainly wasn't willing to go, and turned to bend and examine the tires. This was going to take a lot longer than expected.

Reluctantly, Adam asked: “Are there any cheap motels… secure, cheap motels?” He was plainly uncomfortable; alone, boxed in, with a man and that many possible murder weapons scattered around… Adam didn't like it, he shuffled from foot to foot, glanced around nervously and pulled at the frayed material of his white t-shirt.

“You a little edgy, huh?” Asked the man, standing up and wiping his oily hands on his jeans.

He had a smirk on his face that made an already awkward situation incredibly uncomfortable. His name tag said Paul—a fucking hillbilly, great, thought Adam. He tried to be civil, because his encounter with the guy in the car hadn't come off too well, and because he wanted to avoid any more trouble. But, he wasn't exactly pulling it off.

Paul the mechanic was standing there, an inch or so shorter—brim of his baseball cap almost touching his nose, just… grinning at him.

“Can you just hurry up, please, I can't be in town long,” he said, backing up but trying to make it look natural, “I'm… late, for a meeting.”

It was a lame excuse, and he knew it, but he hoped it'd fly.

“Well, sure,” said Paul, turning and hitching up his pants before setting to work again. “You might wanna call ‘em up, tell ‘em your gonna be late. Because this baby is gonna need a few days—at least.”

“A few days,” exclaimed Adam. It was a blow, being that he was worried about being tracked. But, the more he thought about it, he wasn't exactly sure of where he was headed anyway. He could use this valuable time to research Alison's whereabouts. Yes, that was what he'd do: find somewhere to say with as few doors and windows as possible, and—

“‘Scuse me, sir,” said Paul.

By now the young mechanic was on his back under the car examining the underside. Adam could only see his legs, but he could hear that fucking smirk.

“But if you're interested, there is a motel at the end of the street…” he grunted.

Adam didn't know why, but he caught an unnerving inclination in his tone. Ever since the bathroom, Adam saw things differently. He saw men differently. Having nothing to do but bleed and wonder: where is Lawrence? Is Lawrence coming back? Is Lawrence dead? He became, understandably fixated on that man—on his face, on his voice—he was the only hope he had after those big metal doors shut. He fantasised many times, of how things might have been different, if Lawrence stayed—they would have died, but at least they wouldn't have died alone. And when those doors opened again, he saw things differently.

“I'll find it, thanks,” he said and went to leave through the big metal doors of the garage before they too closed and trapped him in this dark, damp garage with a man he knew of but didn't know well. He didn't want to compare just anybody with Lawrence.

 

Adam drowned out the world as he walked. It was bright and sunny, but he was dark inside. It was like he was still trapped in that damned bathroom… wasting away, bleeding out like a stuck hog, he couldn't see the bright sunshine and smiling faces. That part of Adam didn't exist anymore. The streets were full of people but he walked as if he was the only one, like a zombie, red-eyed, vacant, he trudged on towards the large building with the red neon outside.

There was only one room, made recently available. But Adam didn't care about the odd smell or the stained sheets, he just wanted to hide away behind a locked door in the dark for a few more days.

Paying up-front, he once again avoided all contact be it hand or eye and retreated out of the main reception of the shitty rathole motel and found his room. He began to shake, fitting the key in the lock, so bad he needed both hands to steady himself. If that wasn't bad enough, he took to hyperventilating, feeling massive panic—eyes watching him, fingers clawing for him—he just wanted…

“‘Let me out—in,” he cried, nearly snapping the key in the lock as he took to beating his face and fist and indeed, whole body against the door. “Gotta… gotta get out, please, Lawrence, don't go, don't leave me here…”

He turned in to a wreck, letting confusion cloud his emotion. He could see the door, unyielding, as the metal bathroom door, could hear his voice echo in the stale air, pleading… pathetic.

When he regained consciousness, he was being helped to his feet, against extreme brightness of daylight, not in the bathroom, no. But out, free. Hah, that's funny, thought Adam, spitefully, sure still feel trapped.

Brushing off the helping hands like the plague, Adam choked out apologies and thanks, and go-aways, and finally took control of himself and the key. He burst in to the room and slammed himself against it on the inside, shutting it hard with a reckoning urgency. After locking it, there he stayed, crying hard yet again until his body went limp and he slid down the door until he came to a sit on the floor, with his back to the door, knees drawn up to his chest and face in his hands.

“Lawrence,” he shakily said. “Bastard—you left, you fucking left, didn't you? Liar. Fucking lies. I hate you.”

But he was the liar, he knew. He didn't hate Lawrence. How could he? He saved him, in the end. Sure, it took a while, but it happened. He didn't mean it, he just didn't know what else to do. He could blame the killer, but he'd already done that. This feeling was a very different one, one not attributed to what he did, but what Adam felt. Jigsaw had no place in his heart.

Somehow, when he awoke, he found himself on top of the small bed in his room. He'd dragged himself there and cried himself to sleep, something he'd been doing a lot of lately. It was the only way he got sleep anymore, if he just exhausted his body and mind to the point of collapse. It was sad, but he'd made peace with it.

He groaned, his body stiff and aching to hell.

When he pulled himself out of the bed, a wave of nausea rushed to him. He puked up what little he'd ate down the side of the bed. 

“Aw, shit,” he spat. “Not even fucking wasted.”

It was true. Adam hadn't had a drink since before even the bathroom. But the combination of hard medication and activity, nerves, and stress, it had an affect on him. He screamed in pain, once the terrible throbbing sting of his wound set back in. It felt like a searing poker jabbing in to his shoulder and spread every time he moved, or even breathed. It was agony, and worse in the morning, worse than any hangover. He popped as many pills as he could yank from his jeans pocket. Half of them spilled over the bed and floor but thankfully enough made it to his mouth. He swallowed a handful dry. It may have been dangerous, but there wasn't there anyway. If he accidentally killed himself, would anyone care? Would it even be an accident if he knew it was dangerous?

Changing the sheets with the spare stowed underneath the bed, Adam began to feel a sense of normality again. He went to the bathroom, took a piss, went out and grabbed a bunch of things that he'd stuffed in his jacket and brushed his teeth. It seemed almost normal, if it wasn't dark outside. He even looked okay, in the slimy mirror. Skin a little pale, but the redness of his eyes from the tears and the sleeplessness had faded some. He looked… pretty good, considering. He even laughed, wondering what the hell happened to him earlier.

Feeling brave, he winced and tugged off his stained t-shirt and looked at himself for the first time since his recovery. His eyes went wide. He had lost weight, and looking at his bony ribs, he realised how hungry he was. But what first aroused as curiosity, grounded him. The wound was big and mean looking—a stark contrast to his effeminate frame. He kinda liked it—he had to, he'd be living with it for a while. But it evoked painful memories, so he didn't keep his chest bare for any longer than necessary. Even braver he tried a hot shower, but it stung so bad he was afraid the wound would open and so that didn't last long. Instead of putting on his sweat-stained t-shirt again, feeling cleaner, he just slipped his jacket on over the top until he managed to get back to the car and grab some clothes to change in to.

“Fuck,” he cursed while washing his face and hair in the sink as he thought about the unattractive prospect of returning to the garage and that guy.

He had to go, though, he needed his car. Thankfully it was still dark, so he didn't need to worry about that for a few hours. He laid on the bed and stretched out, just staring at the ceiling, thinking. Thinking about Lawrence.

“Lawrence,” he said, quietly. “I'm sorry I called you those things. I didn't mean it.”

He was almost smiling as he imagined Lawrence—a dead man—answering back in words he used so softly in the bathroom, gentle yet firm reassurance. He wasn't a good man, Adam tried telling himself. Lawrence. He was a liar, he was a cheater. But not to him. To him, Lawrence was goodness personified. Selflessly he crawled to Adam, on the brink of death, simply to comfort him. He wasted so much time doing that when he might have left immediately and saved them both. But no, he went and did something so damn heroic. They bonded, and though Lawrence must have only been thinking of his family in danger, Adam took some comfort in his memories of him, no matter how grave they were. They seemed to be his only memories now, too, as what happened before… all faded in the wake of it all.

“Is… is this a good idea? I-I’m not so sure… I don't even know your wife, man, but… but it's just something I feel I gotta do. Closure, man, I got no plan.”

He snorted a laugh and closed his eyes, imagining more comfort from his deceased saviour.

When he opened them, it was daylight again, and it was surprisingly bearable.

“Shit, what time…” he found his watch. “Shit, shit.”

Again, fumbling his way out of bed, he suppressed the pain to a hiss of agitation and found his things. Only having paid for one night, he hoped to get the hell out of there and wish that the damned car was in a state of readiness, because he was eager, now more than ever, to complete his journey, his vendetta to defeat his fears.

 

Arriving at the mechanics a little after ten, the scene was almost exactly as it had been the day before, with Adam standing nervously by his damaged car, and a guy’s legs poking out from beneath. Although this time, the legs were different, thicker.

“Yo,” said Adam, a little awkwardly, waving his hand though no one could see it.

“This your car?” Asked a voice, notably grifter and more aged than the younger mechanic.

“Uh, yeah, man,” he cleared his throat and squatted down to maybe see what was so fascinating about he underside. “So, is it good to go, or what?”

What came back as a response was a short, sarcastic laugh.

“No, buddy,” he said with certainty. “My idiot nephew might have said one thing, but I say another. This car is fine—just some fine-tuning here and there, but we’re busy today. A lot to do, as you can see…”

Adam looked around.

There was at least two cars in need of servicing, and the young nephew was busy on another, apparently. He was just leaning against the door, smirking again, looking straight at him while playing with a toothpick in his mouth. A woman stood shaking her head talking on her phone. Her husband sounded pissed, thought Adam, he sharply looked away from the mechanic and back to the legs on the floor before anything regretful transpired.

“Right, so how long will it take?” He asked with usual impatience. “How much will it take… to make this whole process go a bit faster? Come on, name your price.”

“Well, since my nephew took from you yesterday a whole lot more than was needed, I think that price has been met, wouldn't you? I'm doing all I can, trust me—should be done later on today.”

“Jesus, thank god,” sighed Adam with relief.

It took him a while to let it sink in. His car would be fine. He would be back out on the road—untraceable—again, later today. It was a big fucking relief. Ever since the bathroom, he hated being trapped, boxed in, free will stolen. Never again. Never again unless he wanted it, and he didn't plan on wanting it, wanting to settle—he'd not settle until that cancerous fuck was dead in the ground. And he had little faith in justice catching him. So, he had only himself to rely upon.

Taking himself in to the town, he found the nearest fast food place. Fuck it, he thought. Why should I be made to suffer? I'm not dying, so why shouldn't I pig out? Besides, he was hungry, so goddamned hungry. And while he didn't know how much he could stomach, today he woke up feeling much better than before, and the pains in his shoulder would be there as an eternal pain as a reminder… he wasn't about to willingly cause himself any further pain by not eating like some anorexic teenager. 

The burgers tasted like shit, but he ate one and a half with some fries and a Coke. He surprised himself. He felt good. A little bloated, but good. Like he might have a chance of survival now. His only regret was that Lawrence wasn't there with him to enjoy life and spit back in the face of that decrepit deadfuck and show the world that they could live again and not be poisoned by someone else's evil.

He wanted to puke again. Puke and cry.

In the time between, waiting for his car to be fixed, he had the waitress bring him a phone book. It was time for him to look up his dead friend’s widow. With some diligence, he believed he could do it. He would do it for Lawrence. For the man who saved him. He owed it to him to at least make sure they made it out of there in more pieces than they did.

For a while he checked various possible names in the phone book, but he began to realise that it would never be a fruitful method of research, especially after supposing that they would be found under Alison Gordon’s parents’ name, which he didn't know. It was also a possibility that their number would be unlisted. No, Adam had to do something he rarely did much. He needed to be clever and think this one through. As if looking for some kind of solace, he pulled out the candid photograph of Lawrence again.

Just the feel of it in his jacket pocket made him well up with unwanted emotion.

Putting down on the table in front of him, he stared at it for a long time. It was a good picture considering all things, though, of course, he hated it. If not for the unusual drawing in red ink on the back of the picture, he would have destroyed it along with the camera. It reminded him of his failings as a human being, of a time when he stalked strangers in the shadows for suspicious housewives and creepy dudes for dollars. 

The symbol. Drawn in red ink so that the light turned on in the darkroom would disguise its presence. Turning it over, he looked upon its form again. A thick circle, with a kinda rectangular shape overlapping and a lightning bolt. He had not thought much about it. All his thoughts revolved around fear, he didn't have the kind of brain that could think passed the obvious; what if the symbol hadn't been left by Jigsaw to scare him? Only now did he ask himself that question, that up until now, seemed utterly implausible.

What if?

Paying for his order he left the place even more determined, and more confused than ever. Whatever this picture was trying to tell him, Adam’s own conclusion reached the point of obvious. It had something to do with Lawrence Gordon. He tried to focus on his way through the streets, but his mind was beginning to cloud over again.

Eventually he found himself sitting on a bench facing the street watching cars go by, whilst he made a few clandestine, speculative phone calls. He called police, local schools and gave the descriptions of Alison and Diana Gordon, on chance that any people had seen the two relatively new faces In town—that's if he'd even found the right town. He thought that it'd be pointless, but he tried these things anyway. And as suspected, dead ends all of the way.

He was at a loss.

“Wait—what are you doing? Idiot, Adam.”

He'd been stupid, but not in the obvious way; in his emotional state, and he desperation to forget the past, he'd forgot who he was. Hell, a step down from a private investigator, but he'd been close enough. He still had contacts. Dangerous people he didn't need in his life, but what else did he have? He recalled a few secret numbers of the past, and dialled the digits, to willingly enter free fall in to that old dark world of Adam Faulkner he promised to move on from. But then again, since when did Adam listen to reason? Fuck that, and fuck Jigsaw--I'll do what I want. He called upon one last favor to these people, and he told himself never again. This one last time, and he'd be able to move on. He just needed this one thing, before he missed his chance at closure. After that, he really didn't care anymore if he lived or died—worse case scenario: he'd join Lawrence. And that sounded damn good compared to letting anyone tie him to their standards again. Jigsaw was the last to date do that. It didn't take long for Adam to get an address. He quickly wrote it down on the palm of his hand and memorised it.

It was time, he decided. To do or die.


	4. Olive Branch

Alison Gordon didn't plan on spending her whole life as her daughter’s keeper, but then again she didn't plan on spending it hiding away at her parents’ house either. She wanted to get over this and move on, but, it was as predicted: very difficult—sleeping with her eyes open had become a common thing. She wanted to be herself again, but she hadn't been able to shake the feeling that they were being watched. She told herself she was crazy, that anyone who attacked them a second time so soon after the first were fools. The police made weekly visits per request of a social worker who was also frequently visiting to check on the situation.

Diana was no fool, she knew what was going on. Her mother was overprotective, but she was still so young, and had been through so much, she needed her mother a little less each day, but they were both still so scared. Her grandparents helped some, made her forget and feel that the past was a dark dream, but all too often there would be a loud noise, a knock at the door, a phone call, when she would just… break. They both would scream and cling to each other in a corner of the room. Diana refused to sleep alone, and who could blame her?

It had been a warm day, and Diana had just eaten breakfast as a family. The three smiles in the kitchen made her feel better, in spite of their superficial nature and she ate her first bowl of cereal in its entirety since before her kidnapping. 

The family were thrilled, especially her mother, who insisted on marking the occasion with a visit to the beach. Diana only smiled and shook her head.

“No thanks,” she said.

Alison smiled weakly in return. She supposed she had herself to blame; how could she expect her child to leave the house when she never did? 

“Come on,” she reasoned. “It's a bright, sunny day… lots of families there, I bet.”

Again, she shook her head, “no thanks,” and sort of thinned her lips.

Alison watched Diana get up from the table and accepted the long hug she gave her.

“I know,” said Alison's mother in her child voice. She leaned in behind with her hand on Ali’s shoulder as she spoke to Diana. “We’ll all go out, wouldn't my little DeeDee like that, hmm?”

Diana turned on her seat, that was her mother’s lap, and reached her arms out to bring her grandmother in to the hug.

“Diana, would you like a Popsicle?” Asked her grandfather from somewhere in the kitchen.

The girl’s eyes lit up. She looked at her mother as if asking permission.

“Yeah, go on,” she assured with a smile as she turned to let the girl hop off. “You spoil her.”

“Heh, what good is having a granddaughter if we can't spoil her rotten?”

In the middle of running it to the kitchen, Diana met her grandfather who offered her either a blue or green Popsicle; she opted for blue and then ran out to the front room to watch television—never news, always cartoons or something cheerful.

They never talked about it. Always pretended everything was peachy. Alison had to let out her frustration under water; letting her head slip under in the bath, she screamed and screamed so that no one could hear her, then she could come out, dressed and refreshed, no one wise to her. It was unhealthy, she knew, but she didn't like to show her vulnerabilities. She was supposed to be a mother, a wife; diligent and honourable, unlike her dearly departed husband. 

Alison hated Lawrence. She didn't want to, but even after all that'd happened to him, she couldn't feel sorry for him. She only felt coldness. You betrayed me, was all she could say in her head when she visited him in the early days in the hospital. You did this. You brought us in to this. You've ruined our lives. You deserved this, we didn't. She hated herself for being so spiteful, but at least no one ever heard her say those things, not even him, though she knew he felt that bitterness through her eyes. It didn't take long for her decision to be made final. She took Diana and moved far away. It just didn't seem like they could ever go back after all that'd happened. Every time she saw Lawrence, she saw some stranger, sickly-pale and full of self-loathing and apology. She couldn't live like that. She didn't want to see him like that. The love was long-gone, tainted by a massive number of factors.

Diana asked about him all the time, and Alison always gave him a glowing reference.

He'd always been an absent parent. A good father, but absent, it didn't seem to make much difference if he was dead or alive, he was never there. Again, she felt wicked for thinking that, but she couldn't help the resentment she felt.

 

After lunch, Alison's mother took a fall and was admitted to hospital.

She was fine but had a fractured hip. Alison didn't want to go see her.

“But, why not?” Asked her father, saddened.

Alison shook her head, “I can't,” she croaked.

Seeing the overwhelming fear and sadness welling up in his daughter’s eyes, he reached for her and pulled her to him. She sobbed against his plaid shirt and received a kiss on the top of her head. He asked her to reconsider.

“I can't—not today—I'm not ready, maybe tomorrow.”

Seemingly satisfied, he gave her another kiss.

There was hope for Diana however, who had been with her when she tripped gardening in the back yard. She went with her in the ambulance without a second thought. It was good. It meant she had hope of overcoming her symptoms and she was capable of venturing to the outside world in the right way. Alison wanted to go too, but at this time, it was out of the question—she was in no condition mentally to do such a thing. She would, eventually, but not today. Maybe not even tomorrow, but she had to give her dad some illusion of her getting better, even if it was untrue.

When the knock came at the door, Alison startled; her realisation that she had been for the first time, alone in the house had knocked her nerves harshly to breaking point. Until the knock, she didn't even realise she was alone and she hated that she let her guard down.

Answering the door, ordinarily was a no-no, but on this occasion, this rare occasion, she was tempted to do so. Why should she be forced to live life a terrified recluse? It wasn't who she was, and to let it get to her that much… she didn't want to be anybody's victim. In this, however, she realised she was turning herself in to just that.

She stormed through the house, full of determination that this would be the moment she would change her life for the better.

It took her a while, but she recognised the tired-looking young man standing there.

Adam looked nervous, twitchy, and all-around unhealthy.

Alison didn't know how to respond exactly. Just when she thought she'd shut out that part of her life, it found ways to creep back in.

“Hi, Mrs Gordon,” said Adam, a little shaky. “I know you probably don't remember me, but my name is Adam—”

“I know who you are,” she said in disbelief, cutting off his inappropriate introduction. “Do you mind telling me what the hell you're doing here and how you found me?”

Adam's mouth hung slightly open. The words were just not coming to him.

“Well,” she challenged, crossing her arms, sorely tempted to slam the door in his face. “I'm waiting for your explanation.”

“I err—I don't exactly have one.”

“What does that mean?” She asked, before coming to her senses.

Shaking her head, she pushed the door closed.

Adam blocked the closure with his foot and a hand.

“Wait, please,” he said, not adding any pressure to force the door open.

Alison looked at him, offended.

He backed off away from the door.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “This—is extremely fucking awkward.”

“Yeah,” scoffed Alison. “It is.”

Something passed between them at that moment; a breaking of ice. Suddenly it seemed the worse part was over, for both of them.

“I'm not gonna lie and say I'm happy to see you,” she said, bluntly, opening the door slightly. “But, since you meant so much to Larry, and you did kill that fucking bastard whose face still haunts me and my baby today… why don't you come in?”

Adam was surprised.

“And talk about old times?” He asked, suspicious of her motivation.

She opened the door to him. “Definitely not. Come in before I change my mind.”

Adam stepped in to the house, feeling like shit for invading her sacred place of home and family like this. He tried to express his displeasure, but no words came out. Instead, he kept quiet until she decided to speak, or didn't. He had no damn right to say anything to her. He only stood there once the door closed, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket.

“Sit down,” she said groggily as she herself sat at the large family table in the kitchen.

She looked okay, Adam found himself thinking. She looked better than he did, at least. Her blonde hair was tied back and frayed; her eyes were heavy-lidded and tired; her skin was a little glossy and she looked jaded. The coveted coffee sat in front of her, and she nursed it like a life preserver. She didn't drink, she just seemed happy letting the hot vapours sift upwards. Adam wondered humourlessly if this was a bad time. He shook his head as he pulled out a chair and sat down next to her. She put her face in her hands and started to cry. Adam's fingers twitched, as he fought the urge to touch her hand. Again, his appearance was already as much of a shock as anything as she should have had to face; he didn't feel right committing such an intimate gesture.

“I heard about Lawrence,” he said finally, after much deliberation.

“Oh, yeah? Good for you. What did you hear?”

By now it was obvious to Adam that Alison was in no mood to talk. Maybe this would not be the consoling visit he hoped? Ada changed the subject. He looked around, spying a number of photographs on the refrigerator held by magnets.

“Hey, where's your kid?” He asked, and then bit his lip. How the hell did he have nerve to ask about her? 

She tilted her head sideways to look at him and shot him such a look of scorn. His eyes were closed. She saw he regretted the question, and knew then that he meant well, and didn't intend it to be as personal as it sounded.

“At the hospital,” she said with a sigh.

Adam jumped a little in his seat.

“Oh, no,” she said quickly, stopping him reaching certain conclusions—she could see how nervous he was. “My mother. She had a fall, damaged her hip. Diana and my dad are there now checking on her.”

“Jesus, well,” Adam breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back. “ I hope she's okay—your mom.”

Alison looked at him and then back down to her coffee. ”It wasn't serious. Thanks.”

Nodding, Adam asked no more about that, though he was concerned. If anything had happened to Alison or Diana, he wouldn't have been fucking happy. It would have been like another kick while he was down, more shit to permanently fuck a guy up. He wanted to ask about the past, about what she did when she found out Lawrence was dead, but as it turned out, he didn't have to ask her.

“You wanna know about him, I suppose?” She asked.

“Huh? Lawrence? Yeah, I mean, if it's not too hard for you to… you know.”

“What did you hear?” She asked, carefully.

Adam frowned. “That he… Lawrence. Died.”

Alison laughed, cold and unhappy. “I suppose that's an explanation. What else is there to know? If you heard that he died, then he died.”

Adam was confused. “What do you mean by that?”

“I don't know,” Alison sighed and bowed her head in to the palm of her hand, nursing her forehead. “I don't really know much about anything anymore. Everything is crazy, and… and I don't know who I am, or whose life I'm living, but I know I'm not me.”

Adam nodded; he understood that.

“Diana… she's getting better every day, and I'm stuck here, in this goddamn rut. I'm doing all I can to not fall apart. She's the reason why I haven't,” suddenly she looked up, eyes glassy with tears. “What about you? I haven't asked, not because I don't want to know—because I do—but it's hard… to face… to accept. I just… can't breathe, sometimes it's like I can see that man… the one you killed, the one that took us, held us at gunpoint. I can see him over my bed at night, reaching his hands around my throat,” she demonstrated by placing her hands to her exposed throat. “If I have to live with that… well, forgive me if I don't really like to talk about it.”

Adam felt a lump in his throat. It was bad enough that he was going through this shit too, he didn't need reminding that he was a murderer. Though, a small smile still made it to his face. He may have suffered for it, but at least because of his actions, no matter how fuelled by anger and panic, Alison and Diana saw some retribution. He couldn't blame Zep, but he sure as hell couldn't judge her for doing so.

“It's alright,” he said quietly. “I'm the same.”

He reached over, and took her hand. She looked at him, and they looked at each other. He saw in her a revelation, unspoken: you do? You mean I'm not the only one. Thank god. They stayed like that for a while, simply doing for each other what no one else could. She took from him a piece of comfort; knowing that she wasn't alone. He took from her a piece of hurt; finally able to console with someone who finally understood. 

“Larry talked about you,” she admitted, finally stopping the tears and taking her hand back. Suddenly she was a little embarrassed, having opened up to the last person she ever expected to see.

“He did?” Adam asked, lighting up.

“Hm,” she nodded and wiped away tears on her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “He called you ‘brave’. He said you were a lot braver than he was, the way you didn't play the game. He kept saying that, though he didn't say what he meant exactly. I do know that as soon as he found out me and Diana were safe, he was begging officers to rescue you. We… thought he was just crazy with blood loss, but when they eventually went down there they found you a week later. Larry was already at a hospital by then, and was recovering. But he always asked for you. I guess you went through a lot together.”

“Yeah, we did.” Adam smiled, sadly.

He couldn't believe how much he missed him. He didn't know him, they spent a few hours together, in a life or death situation. They would not have become friends otherwise. From different social networks, their only connection was death—him—and Adam fucking hated that and regretted it. He wished he would've known him.

“How,” he asked. “How did it happen? Please, I need to know.”

There was a pause where Alison got up and poured out her coffee. She want going to drink it, she just liked to smell it. She was stalling, of course. He got up out of the chair and stood next to her by the sink, leaning on it, trying to read her features.

“Please,” he repeated, grabbing her arm. “I really need to know, you gotta tell me.”

She glared down at where his hand sat on her arm until he was forced to remove it. She uttered a thank-you and turned to face Adam.

“I don't know what to tell you,” she said, evasively. “Even before everything, I was just looking for a way out. After we escaped, I knew what I needed to do. I left him, Adam, while he was in a hospital bed. I left him. Took my child and moved here away from all the shit. I didn't feel safe with him. I feared for my life, I feared for my child—what else was there to do?”

“Hey, I'm not judging you,” said Adam, hurriedly. “Why were you afraid—Lawrence?”

“No,” she said firmly. “But even you have to see, he represented a hell of a painful time in my life, and I didn't want any more pain to come my way, or Diana’s. We'd had enough. I took her and got the hell out of there before something else happened. And god knows I didn't want Diana to see her daddy hooked up to all those machines.”

Just then, they both startled. The phone ringing caught them off guard, but provided enough of an excuse for Alison to escape the difficult subject of Lawrence.

“Excuse me,” she said, and moved passed him to answer the phone.

Adam stepped aside and stood there awkwardly, trying not to listen, instead he ended up listening with an increasingly curious ear.

“Yeah? What the hell do you want?”

As she moved, deliberately away from Adam and in to the other room, Adam became suspicious. She'd only just found out he was in town, what reason did she have to duck him now? He didn't want to listen, it was her business. All the same, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was no simple private call. Who was it? The police, FBI?

“No, she's fine. How did you? Just a fracture, she'll be alright. I know, I know. Yes, she is alright too. She's there. Yeah, I'm going. I said I'm going, what the hell do you want from me? Huh-huh, well good for you. You'd better hold up on your promise. Look, I really don't have time—there's nothing to talk about. No, I'm not with anyone, what kind of—Yeah. Goodbye. I'll tell her. Yeah, you'd better… bye.”

Adam had more sense than to ask who it was, and really, he felt like he was overstaying his welcome. Not that he was welcomed in the traditional sense. He investigated the photographs on the refrigerator while she was still talking—took particular interest in one photograph, half buried under a mass of others. He recognised a portion of it. It looked like a corporate logo. He pulled the photograph from its magnet, and looked at the full image. It was of the family. Lawrence was smiling, younger, with Alison by his side, also smiling. She looked pregnant. It was the only photograph present that featured Lawrence for some reason. He guessed the parents didn't like him much since the photo was pushed behind so many others featuring them and happier times.

Holy crap, thought Adam. They looked happy. He looked… pretty fucking good, if he was honest. A different person from the unhappy, duplicitous doctor he met. He touched the face. A pang of sorrow. I wish I knew you under better circumstances.

The building behind them. Some kind of fishery, he assumed. There were small fishing boats behind the subjects in the picture. Nets and a misty atmosphere. He wondered what was so appealing at the time that they'd want a picture taken in front of a smelly fishing warehouse. He shrugged and just as his eyes grazed over the big sign at the front displaying the company name and logo, he was drawn back away by the sound of Allison’s heels touching tile and the sound of the receiving clicking. 

He turned as he heard her sigh. She was standing there with her hands on her hips.

“Just what in hell are you doing?” She asked, irate.

Before Adam could give his innocent answer, she had already snatched the photograph from his fingers and was about to pin it back on the fridge when she saw it.

“I'm sorry,” said Adam. “I just was curious, and—”

She waved him off as she was almost caught cracking a smile.

“This was a long time ago,” she said. “Obviously under better times. So young. Full of hopes for the he future. I guess we needed more than hope. It's a nice picture, and I'd almost forgotten about it. Here,” she said, handing it over to him. “You can have it.”

Adam was taken aback. He stepped back and held up his hands. 

“Whoa—no,” he said, wide-eyed. 

“Really. I won't miss it. Besides, I never forgot what Lawrence did for you—us. I think he would like you to have something to remember him by that's not a hole in the chest.”

Adam couldn't argue with that. Before he could stop her, she ripped the photograph right down the middle, permanently splitting the last remaining evidence of togetherness she once had with him, and gave Adam one side—Lawrence's, while she kept the other—her pregnant self, pregnant with the real love of her life, and slipped it in her blouse pocket.  
He was flooded with gratitude.

“Jesus, Alison, I… this…”

“You're welcome,” she said without a hint of a smile.

Awkwardly, he touched her arm before letting himself slip backwards, towards the door.

“Hey,” she said, stopping him.

He wanted to leave. He wanted to get to his car so he could cry alone and not be seen, but Alison seemed to have other ideas.

“Why don't you stay? Meet Diana. Larry would want you to.”

Adam smiled, and Alison smiled back.

“I—I'd love to,” he said, a little too quickly. “But, are you sure? Won't it be like… a little weird?”

“Not really? And come on, we both know weirder stuff happens. Truth is, I could use the distraction. I really want to visit my mother in the hospital, but I don't want Diana to see me go through that. I'm supposed to be strong… but I'm not that strong, honestly. I need my mom and dad sometimes, as she needs me. So, stay. Have dinner with us, as a friend of Larry’s in town to see us, and how we’re coping—that's why you came after all, isn't it?”

“Of course,” Adam touched his chest, where his heart was, and was surprised to feel it beating like crazy—he was alive after all. “But, really—give me a few hours—I'll find a motel and—”

“No, you won't,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder, the one not wounded. “Please, you can stay my room. I usually end up sharing with Diana anyway. I can trust you right? You can take care of Diana while my dad drives me down to the hospital. It's a big ask, I know, but I feel as though you're not nearly as irresponsible as you look.”

“Don't count on it,” Adam scoffed. 

He was overwhelmed. At first, he found Alison cold, and he still felt that way, but she seemed genuine in her need for his help. He did want to meet Diana. It seemed like a very generous and uncold thing for her to do. Maybe he misjudged her.

“Of course, it's just while tomorrow,” she added. “After that, gratitude over. You got what you came for, I get what I want. And I can get rid of some of the guilt of my ex husband shooting you. I'd appreciate that after tomorrow, you'd go and not come back. If you could do that, that'd be great, thanks.”

So, maybe he hadn't misjudged her.

“Alright,” nodded Adam, still a little unsure. “I can do that.”

He decided it'd be best not to tell her how irresponsible he really was, and she decided it'd be best to not tell him what really happened to Lawrence. Not yet, at least.


	5. Family

Having all the time in the world to realize his discomfort at the situation, Adam let great awkwardness flood him as he sat there in Alison Gordon’s Parents’ kitchen with her. She had amazingly, opened her home to him, and considering her deathly protectiveness, this was a moving compliment. She didn’t even know him. He might have been a killer—changed, warped from his experience—but no… he assumed it was out of gratitude; if not for him, Zep would have murdered her husband—ex-husband—and thereafter, probably them.

“Are you okay with this arrangement?” She asked, showing him to the room he would be sleeping in the night.

“Honestly? Hell, no,” he said with a slight joking tone. “I haven’t slept in anything but a hotel bed and a motel room, this is a bit of an upgrade.”

“It’ll have to do,” she said, dismissively. “Here are some pillows. I haven’t checked with my dad, but I’m sure he’ll love having a guy around the house for a bit. I’m going to call him now, so he doesn’t—”

“Get a hell of a rude shock?”

She laughed, through her nose, “something like that.”

Adam didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this. It was… well, weird. He was sure she didn’t really need anyone to watch Diana, no matter what she said. She probably just wanted to be around someone who was close to Lawrence in those moments. He wanted to question her more on him, but she didn’t seem to like that topic.

“So, er, when will your kid get back?”

“Diana,” she said, opening the bedside drawers and taking a few things from them. “Her name is Diana, Adam. If this is going to work out, you need to get past that first step. Later on. I’m just going to make a call to my dad. Tell him, and then, maybe she’ll be back after they’ve made sure everything is alright with my mother.”

“Right,” Adam nodded.

He made a mental reminder to not call her daughter, ‘kid,’ or ‘squirt,’ or anything like that. 

He was nervous as shit; wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans frequently, and eventually just stuffing them in his pockets out of the way. His hair was a little messy, and his clothes (grey shirt and ratty old sneakers) left a lot to be desired in a first impression. Suddenly, he felt gross.

“Bathroom?” He asked, sniffing.

Alison looked over her shoulder at him, and then smiled and cocked her blonde head in the direction of the adjoining bathroom.

“Thanks,” he said. “Just need to freshen up. I must look and smell like hell.”

Washing his face and hands, in someone’s sink, it was bizarre. He shouldn’t be there. He should be far away from Alison and her tortured psyche. How was either of them to recover when they were just as bad as each other? If Lawrence was around, things would be different, he told himself. For one, this would feel less fucking weird.

After he emerged from the bathroom, he returned to the kitchen just in time to see Alison hanging up the telephone. She was just standing there, with her forehead pressed to the wall. It looked like she hadn’t noticed Adam.

He retreated back a few steps and made a bit more noise on his entrance and found her standing there facing Adam, smoothing down the front of her blouse.

“All good?” He asked, a little warily. 

She nodded.

It was clear that he’d caught her crying.

“All good,” she said, lowly.

Alison moved over to the fridge and opened it.

Adam tried not to stare, but it was obvious to him that she didn’t like showing her emotion. Being married to Lawrence, who was never there for her, it wasn’t a surprise. She must have had more unspent emotions and more anger than he’d ever carried. And he was always open about his anger. He figured he shouldn’t comment, lest he offer to be her punching bag.

“Hey, can I call you Alison? I mean, we’re not strangers any more, right?”

He heard her sniff, and saw her fumble around in the fridge. 

“Sure,” she said, with a mask of cheerfulness. “I don’t want to jinx it, but I think you and Diana might like each other.”

Adam didn’t know what gave her that impression: unless Lawrence had spun a few golden lies about the time they spent chained up together. In which case, he must have had a higher opinion of him than he showed. They battled pretty fiercely down there. Adam was angry, blunt, and impatient. Lawrence was the opposite. In what world would any mother, who knew him, think this was a good idea?

When he didn’t answer, Alison closed the fridge and turned to him with a smile.

“Don’t worry, that wasn’t me being psychic. I just get the feeling, that you are not nearly as hard-edged as you like to present yourself, Adam. You’ve got a soft side. That’s what Lawrence told me,” she looked down, deep in thought. “I don’t know why he’d say that—we weren’t even discussing you at the time—he just said: ‘he’s a good kid, a little angry, but he’s got a heart,’ something like that. I’m inclined to trust Lawrence’s judge of character.”

Adam swallowed the lump in his throat. 

Lawrence really felt that way? Holy shit.

“Your husband’s judge of character must be as bad as his…” Adam stopped. “Never mind. Sorry, I shouldn’t be saying shit about a dead man in front of his widow, should I? Gotta watch my mouth.”

“Yeah,” she smirked, moving around the kitchen, performing tasks. “You’d better. Diana will probably glare at you until you apologize. I however, don’t care that much.”

Adam raised a brow. 

“Weren’t too happy with him, were you?” Adam bit his lip. It was not a good idea to bring up inflammatory shit, especially not about infidelity.

“Nope,” she said, simply, throwing out some spoiled fruit. 

“Hey, if you don’t want me talking about him, say so,” he said, confrontationally. “Because I know: holding shit in only leads to trouble. I don’t wanna piss you off as well as sleep in your bed—speaking of which,” he began. “I really, really feel weird about this. Looking after your kid—Diana, whatever—I’m fine with. I can do that. But your bed… come on, you don’t have to be fucking Freud to see the innuendo in that.”

Alison laughed.

It surprised Adam. He figured she’d throw him out of the house.

“Relax, Adam,” she said, bending over to empty the trash. “I’m not trying to replace Lawrence with you—the first available man I saw—I just thought that it’d be a lot more comfortable than sleeping out in your car. But if you’d prefer—”

“No, alright. I don’t want to be ungrateful.”

“Good,” she nodded her head. “Besides, dad will probably drag you inside if you even thought about sleeping outside. He has a disorder. Called common decency.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of that,” joked Adam. “Luckily I haven’t contracted it yet.”

 

Adam’s nerves hadn’t steeled by the time Diana returned home. In, fact he felt worse. He thought the harder person to face would have been without a doubt Alison. But as it turned out, it was much harder for him to face Diana; a small child who’d just lost her only father. It was terrifying. He felt so bad for her, and guilty for himself. How dare he whine about losing Lawrence when there was someone who needed him far more? He felt like an asshole.

However, when the car pulled in to the driveway outside, and he saw the face of the little girl, bearing the slightest of smiles—a wounded smile—he lit up. Maybe he was being direr than he should have been. Diana was coping—she wasn’t a mess like him or her mother. There was hope for her.

Immediately he saw the bond between mother and daughter when Alison ran to the car and opened the door for her. She hugged her while she was still fastened in the car for a very long time, as if she had been worried that she might not return. He wondered if this had been the first time they’d been apart since it happened, because Diana herself hugged on for dear life.

“Diana, I want you to meet, Adam,” she whispered.

Alison tilted her head aside so that she could see the man awkwardly standing back.

Adam waved a hand and smiled the best he could. It was forced, and uncomfortable, but it was all he could do.

“Adam is a friend of mine and your daddy’s. He’s the same Adam that your daddy had talked about. He’s visiting, and he’ll be staying here tonight and having dinner with us. Is that alright with you, honey?”

Diana, who had freed herself from the car, gave Adam a blank stare, the same sort of stare a child would gave any stranger. Her nose sort of wrinkled and she looked up at Alison with some degree of uncertainty.

“I know,” she said. “Grandpa told me in the car.”

Alison smiled and leaned down. She kissed the top of her head and turned her around with her hands on her shoulders. “Well, aren’t you a know-it-all today?”

Diana grinned, a little happier.

By now, Alison’s father had got out of the car and was closing up. He gave Adam a sort of manly, silent ‘hey’, and a nod, which he returned. 

Alison asked him: “How’s mom?”

When he moved to stand in front of them, he put his hands on his hips, sighed and shook his head.

“She’s alright—mad at herself for missing the damn step. I told her, I told her she should be more careful chasing after DeeDee.”

Alison smiled briefly; her face was washed with relief.

“I sure feel bad, her stuck there while we get to meet this fine young man,” said Alison’s father with a broad smile.

Adam was a little surprised. Alison’s father sort of looked like John Wayne; tanned leather skin, hair white and squinty eyes. He seemed like the sort of man’s man type that Adam was the total opposite of. When he grabbed Adam’s hand and shook it, Adam almost squeaked with surprise at the strength of the old man—he almost tugged his arm out of its socket.

“Adam, you waited long enough getting here. Me and the wife were wondering when your handsome mug would show itself,” he chuckled, and released Adam’s hand. “When Ali called at the hospital, Rita was so pissed. She said ‘let me out of this bed, I’m fine—I only hurt a little—give me painkillers, I’ll live.’ She’d wanted to meet you, you see. Glad you showed up. You can call me Alf. Short for Alfred.”

Adam was beginning to feel like a celebrity. How many people had Lawrence told about him? It was quickly becoming widespread and he didn’t know how to feel about it. He simply nodded his greeting.

This was all so unlike him. Never before did he have to do so much pretending to be civil. They were nice enough people, but between his own problems and trying to be social, there was simply only so much he could handle. At some point, he knew it was coming—a big blowout—a reversion to good ol’ smartass, angry-Adam. And, he didn’t want these people—these innocent people—to bear the brunt of it. Lawrence could handle it; he doubted a grieving widow and her family had as much patience for his bullshit as he did. He moved with very careful, cautious steps, not to tread on anyone’s toes, and to keep his fucking head down.

“Diana,” said Alison. “Why don’t you take Adam and show him your pictures while I an your grandpa have a talk, okay?”

Adam cringed; this was not a good idea: he had absolutely no experience with kids. What should he do? Hold her hand? Talk to her like he would a dog? He guessed both were wrong and would earn him a ruthless stare from the girl’s mother.

Strangely, it seemed he wasn’t the only one looking upon this arrangement with dubious pleasure.

Diana was about to just skip ahead in to the house, now she had to deal with this tall man who didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk. What should she do? She had no idea either.

“Okay,” she frowned. “But I don’t let anyone touch my stuff, okay?”

Adam smiled, a little relieved. “Oh, yeah? I’ll remember that.”

It was such a kid thing to say, but Adam related with it on a higher level. He rarely made connections, didn’t let people touch his cameras, his CD’s… anything. He was covetous in that respect; living alone with a girlfriend maybe once a year for a few weeks. He couldn’t live with people—he didn’t like sharing with anyone. A bit childish, maybe, but it expended to his social life in more important ways. He did not let anyone touch him too closely. There was only one, really, and the thought of his only possible soulmate, being a dead… man. Adam had a lot to worry about, and even more to think about.

“Are you coming, Adam?” Said the girl, some moments later.

The walk to heed Diana’s call resembled to Adam, the moonwalk; slow, throbbing and tentative. Each step seemed to take him nowhere nearer, and in his head, he was walking on the spot, leaving footprints too big for his feet; a sure sign that he was—as he suspected—out of his fucking mind.

Diana’s room was not black and white. It was on the very edge of Technicolor, a minimalist’s nightmare full of pinks and yellows and blues, and ribbons and glitter and stuffed animals and pictures. No doubt Diana had yet to make up her mind about a favorite color, but it was clear she was developing the good old tried and true preference for pink.

“In here,” she said, a little shyly.

Adam remembered that age, well; Adam was always a little uncomfortable around people. He imagined she wasn’t too pleased with having him enter her little temple of Diana. And while Adam wasn’t shy, he realized that he couldn’t just talk his way in to her good graces. He would not condescend to her, like some most adults did when talking to kids. He wasn’t stupid as a kid, he hated when people treated him like that. Instead, when he entered her bedroom, he entered a mentality of equality and open-mindedness.

“Nice room you got,” he said, not untruthfully.

She was sat on the edge of her bed with a doll in her hands, fiddling with the head, which seemed a little loose.

He recognized false occupation; a ways of taking ones mind away from reality and locking it firmly in to a private world. When Adam played with his camera, phone, or loose threads on his clothing, he was distracting himself from facing something. He was no psychologist, but he was fairly certain Diana didn’t want to talk much. He sat next to her on the bed, careful not to do it so suddenly that it sank too deeply or to scare her. 

“How long have you lived her with your grandparents, Diana?” He asked, clandestinely hoping to gather a little data.

She shrugged.

He continue: “A couple of weeks, or?”

“Dunno,” she said with another shrug.

Adam didn’t follow up, when it was clear that she didn’t want to answer.

“Grandpa made me this room when I was little for when vacations, we came to visit,” she said, eventually.

“Oh, I see,” he said, nodding.

“Do you see my daddy much?” She asked quietly.

Adam looked at her, confounded. Of course, she had to refer to him in present tense, as if he never died. Shit, he wanted to just break down and cry—that cancerous fuck—leaving this little girl fatherless, doing this to her. In some ways it was worse than what happened to him. Physically he would recover, mentally, he’d always be scarred. He hated the thought that Diana would carry so much, so soon. At some point, she would have to come to terms, and that formed gloominess in Adam that made all of this that much worse.

“Er, no,” he said, panicked.

“Why not? You’re his friend, aren’t you?”

“Yes, of course I am,” he said. 

He didn’t know what to say—he didn’t want to feed in to this unhealthy fantasy, but on the other hand, could he be so cruelly blunt? No. It wasn’t his place to do so. He’d do his best to live in neutrality. 

“Then why?”

“Erm, I guess… we just sort of, drifted apart, Diana, it happens.”

He figured that was vague enough.

“Do you want to see my pictures?” She said, a little brighter.

“Sure,” said Adam, with a smile.

Diana kicked her legs, a little excited and hopped from the bed to move to the side of the bed where a lamp sat on a table, which housed a few large pieces of unfolded paper. Once she retrieved these, she jumped on the bed closer to the top where the pillows were. 

Adam turned on the bed to look at her.

She was spreading out several of the pieces of paper across the expanse of the neat bed facing Adam so that he could see them in the correct perspective.

They were all various childish projects. Some were crayon pictures of trees and bees and dogs; others were paintings with generous paint used and hard to the touch, of more indistinct things. 

“That’s cool,” said Adam, pointing to one that caught his eye.

Diana beamed brightly as the man picked up her painting of a very colorful fish, each scale a different color in relation to each row of scales on the fish’s body. The water around it was simply blue lines. The whole thing was doused with glitter giving the fish a sort of shiny feel. Adam was careful with handling it so to not get sparkles all over the bed, as he was sure, as Alison would be sleeping in it, she would appreciate not having to deal with that.

“Really?” She asked hopefully.

Adam nodded, he smiled at her that was honest and bright and then put the picture back down. He selected another one.

“I like fish,” she said. “We used to have a huge fish tank back home.”

Detecting a hint of sadness, Adam’s smile faded.

“Are you homesick, Diana?” He asked, quietly.

She nodded, without hesitation. 

He was grateful for her honesty.

“I miss Daddy more.”

Adam didn’t know what to do with this. It was pretty goddamn sad.

“Thank you,” she said, suddenly looking up at him. “For helping my daddy.”

Adam was amazed and a little perturbed to find her hugging him; nose against his chest and hair under his chin. He fought the urge to push her away, because that was not a very friendly gesture considering her motive. But really, he wanted to get the hell out of this—he wasn’t used to this at all.

“You’re welcome,” he choked out.

When she let go, she gasped. “Oh, no.”

Following her eyes, Adam saw that as she had crawled over the bed to get to him, she had also crumpled a lot of her pictures. The fish, had spilled a load of glitter.

“It’s alright,” he whispered. “I’ll clean this up, and if your Mom asks, just tell her I was clumsy, okay?”

Diana held back a giggle and nodded.

“I just need you to distract your Mom and Grandpa for a while, okay?”

Diana’s eyes brightened.

“Yeah, it’s a real secret mission. Make sure they don’t suspect a thing.”

Diana’s nose twitched; she was smiling.

“You’re weird,” she said with a real growing wisdom.

“Yeppers,” he winked. “Now, Agent Diana, you gotta be real quiet, and sneak out in to the kitchen. I’m sure, that if you’re clever, they’ll not even know you’re there!”

“Okay!” She chirped and removed herself from the bed and ran to the door.

She looked back at Adam at the door.

He gave her an approving thumbs-up, and watched her leave as he began to clean up the mess.

Once he was sure she was gone, he broke.

He fell on to the bed with an absolute, overwhelming sadness. He didn’t cry but he sure as hell wanted to. Why the hell did bad things always happen to the innocent? He hated Jigsaw, and hated the injustice. He swore: if he could have gone back to that day in the bathroom, he wouldn’t have sat there helpless like a child, he would have ripped his leg from his body, break free and beat that bastard to hell.

"Son of a bitch," he said, finally breaking free from his funk.

The man sat up and smoothed his hair back with his hands.

There was some serious part of him missing, he realised. It was Lawrence. Lawrence had been the only thing that had reached him in such a profound way, and he wanted that part back, even if it meant he had to hang around with this poor, grieving family to just get a piece of himself back. He'd do it. He'd be a good houseguest, not complain, and ask questions, just to delay the inevitable, when he was ready once and for all, to accept the man Lawrence Gordon, his selfless saviour, was truly gone.


	6. Spy Game

“No, Dad,” said Alison. “If Lawrence wanted him to know, I'm sure there would be some sign of it now. Don't you think?”

“Sure, sure,” replied Alf, Alison’s father.

They were both standing together at the kitchen countertop. She was chopping vegetables and he was peeling onions. It had only been a minute or two since Alison had goaded her daughter Diana, in to showing their guest Adam to her room—a flimsy excuse for her to talk privately with her father for a while. The conversation started with Alison requesting an update on her mother’s condition. He told her that she was restless but otherwise fine. He then went on to ask her if she would be willing to leave the house to visit her at the hospital tomorrow. She said she would try, leaving the conversation dead for a while. Alf then changed the subject, and asked if Adam was there looking for them, or Lawrence. Alison knew what he was talking about.

“But, it's a bit cruel,” he added. “Allowing him to believe this story.”

“It's better for all involved, believe me,” she sighed dramatically.

Another difficult pause followed as Alison rushed to his other side to the sink, where she began to rearrange kitchen equipment.

“Oh? And you really believe that? How long will it be before he finds out? If Diana doesn't outright tell him, he'll find out one way or another.”

Alison turned to him.

“What? You’re not going to tell him, are you?” She asked. 

When she received no answer, and saw as her father avoided eye contact, her suspicions were confirmed.

“Dad. You can't tell him. He’ll flip out, in his state.”

“And that's why I'll leave it up to you, sweetheart,” he smiled and touched her hair. “If you have any respect for him and what he did, you'll tell him. It's none of my business though. So, I promise: I'll stay out of it. If he does start acting out, don't worry, I'll stand by you.”

Alison smiled.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He kissed her head.

Both of them turned at that moment, to the sound of a floorboard creaking. They jumped in fear, concerned that the secret had been discovered. Instead, they sighed in unison as relief was born. They saw not Adam, but the young girl Diana, sneaking around the walls; her hand and hair completely visible.

“Sweetheart,” droned Alison. “What are you doing?”

“On a mission,” grinned the girl.

Alison smiled and turned to her, hands on her hips.

“Oh yeah? What sort of mission?”

Diana only sniggered before slinking off and away back down the hallway and in to her room, leaving Alison laughing and shaking her head, daring to assume that she and Adam were at least getting along and whether that was a good thing or not, remained as yet to be seen.

 

By the time he heard Diana coming back in to the room, he straightened himself up, and quickly finished cleaning up the glitter, collecting it in his hands and shaking it back off on the various pictures, which he removed from the bed and put them back to the side. He smiled at her as she entered, but he was very much presenting that image for her benefit.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hi,” she said with an excited cheeriness. 

“Did you complete your mission, Agent Diana?” He asked, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

She nodded emphatically.

“Alright, now,” he sat back down, and placed his hands on her shoulders, just to make sure they were at eye-level to each other, though, he still found it hard to make eye contact.

“Now, I want you to tell me what you found out,” he said, still speaking in whispers.

The girl shook her head, “nothing. Couldn’t hear,” she said.

“That’s alright,” Adam sighed, and smiled. “You’re still a good spy.”

Adam debated asking her outright, was her father really dead? It had been a suspicion long in his mind, and he could not shake it. He didn’t understand why so many people would lie to him. But then, maybe they didn’t know, he thought. It made sense to think that if anyone knew the truth, it would be Lawrence’s family. But he couldn’t do that to Diana. He couldn’t ask her something so blunt, especially after such a fucked up thing happened to her, it would upset her even more.

“Say, Diana,” asked Adam, anyway. “You know, you asked earlier why me and your Dad aren’t friends anymore? Well, it’s because I don’t see him… you know… I don’t know where he is. He didn’t leave a number, or address. So, I actually came here because I thought he might be here after all, you know, with you guys.”

Diana was very quiet, looking at the floor.

“Mommy said I’m not supposed to tell; it’s a secret.”

Adam’s stomach dropped; his eyes bugged; his brain was on fire.

Was this is? All this time, he’d mourned and questioned. There was a simple solution that even a child knew. He had to know more; he had to absorb this secret from Diana—this secret that, according to her, Alison made her swear silence. Children, he knew, were not that great at keeping secrets—it wasn’t their fault—they just sort of… let things slip. Oh, how he hoped she would let it slip now. He was so close, he could taste it.

“Diana,” he began shakily.

Adam got down from the bed and on his knees, still with his hands on her shoulders.

“Diana, this secret,” he started, forgetting his respect for her. “I am a real good secret-keeper—my only friend was your Daddy—there’s no one for me to tell. So, it’s okay. It’s okay—you can tell me. I promise, I promise I won’t tell.”

Adam knew his bargaining might not pay off, but he also knew that if Alison found out, as he could hear her calling Diana’s name, he might lose his only chance at finding out the truth. He was on the trail now, and the footprints were in sight.

“Well…”

He could see her resolve breaking. He felt guilty as hell, but the sweat running down his forehead, and the blood racing through his veins demanded that he know.

“Diana,” he pled.

“Diana?”

Before Diana’s lips moved to utter her answers, in came Alison.

Adam immediately stood, and stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets, leaving Diana a little red-faced and puzzled. 

Alison stopped at the door and looked at the two with increasing suspicion. She crossed her arms, and tapped her foot, relaying her impatience.

“Hi, Mommy,” smiled Diana.

Adam could see that Diana was trying not to look guilty; she was on the verge, the verge of spilling Alison’s secret—the same secret that Adam now thought she was discussing with her father outside, and upon catching Diana spying on them, she came wondering exactly what she was telling their guest. He felt bad for the girl, but stood close to her, reminding her that he was right there, and that she probably shouldn’t tell her mother that she almost let the sworn mystery go free.

“Hi, honey,” she said with a smile, then looking up to Adam. “What sort of games are you to up to, exactly?”

“Nothing,” Adam said quickly.

“Nothing,” agreed Diana.

“Nothing,” repeated Alison, biting her lip.

Of course, she was not stupid. She knew it was no so, and began to circle around them, like a shark would prey, or worse—a detective questioning a pair of suspects.

“Then why do you two look so guilty, huh?” She asked, standing behind Adam.

Adam had no answer for that. He knew that she knew. There was nothing more to be said.

“It doesn’t matter,” she sighed, and walked back around. “Dinner will be ready soon, so I’d appreciate a little less spying games, and a little more getting yourselves ready. Is that okay, Adam?”

When she looked directly at him, Adam swallowed hard. He suddenly regretted his intimate photographs of Lawrence. It must have been a nightmare for him, to come back, after a long day of cheating, to walk through the threshold to have this woman standing there like a predator ready to strike. Shit. He just nodded frantically.

“Is that okay, Diana?”

Diana mimicked Adam’s nod.

“Good, good,” she said slowly, and left them alone again.

Adam, being dissuaded, dropped his questions, and sighed.

“Is your Mom always that scary?” He whispered.

Diana sniggered, and covered her mouth to keep from laughing too loud.

 

An hour later, Diana had dressed in a pretty yellow dress with white ribbons for dinner, and had seemingly grown rather fond of Adam, letting him tie her shoes and putting a ribbon in her hair. They’d spent much of the time watching some of Diana’s cartoons on television while they waited.

Adam didn’t understand the desire to dress up to eat. He usually just sat on his bed in his boxers and ate takeout. He nevertheless, made some effort on this occasion, digging out a plain white dress shirt from his car. It was pretty creased, but he straightened it out in the bathroom while he combed his hair to the side and cleaned his face and hands. He only had a couple of changes of outfit, but he didn’t figure any of it mattered anymore. Who cared what he was wearing? He cursed his lack of enthusiasm. He felt unkempt, compared to pretty little Diana and her still-beautiful mother. And she was beautiful, he decided, unabashedly. Lawrence was an idiot to drop her for a younger model. Though, he figured the man must have had his reasons to run around behind her back. Midlife crisis? Wanting a bit of excitement? He pulled on a cleaner pair of jeans and declared himself ready to play family with Lawrence’s wife and family.

The table fit all of them, with Adam sat on one side next to Diana, with Alison across from her and Alf across from him. He figured he probably wasn’t allowed to sit directly across from Ali or next to her, which was a shame, he thought. She was wearing a blue dress decorated with green flowers. It was very casual, a little less serious. He expected her to wear funeral garb with a veil—some shit like that—he didn’t know why he had that opinion of her. He barely knew her, why shouldn’t she like to wear a flowery dress once in a while?

“So, Adam,” started Alf.

He’d been dreading the obligatory conversation from Alison’s father all afternoon, as he knew he’d ask him a bunch of questions. He reminded him of a protective father who’d just met his daughter’s boyfriend for the first time and wanted to test him for approval. And he’d had a few of them to know the type.

“What is it you do?”

“I am—was—a photographer,” he said, as a little growl as he brought the fork to his mouth.

“Ah, a photographer,” he seemed to be recalling. “That’s right, I’m sorry. Alison did mention that. And you did some… sort of detective work for her?”

“Sort of,” Adam said, chewing.

“Not exactly, Daddy, but close enough,” said Diana.

This was weird, Adam decided. He felt like a teenager, and probably looked like one too. 

“But not anymore?” Asked Alf, uneasily. 

Adam shook his head.

There was no way Alison would have told him about Lawrence’s affairs, right? He asked himself. Then why is he looking… never mind, he shrugged. She probably did. She was pissed off—needed to tell somebody. Somehow Adam ended up in the middle of this. When he shook his head, Alf nodded, almost appreciatively, like he was happy. She must have told him, and he assumed one thing or another. His profession—or moonlight profession—was dangerous, stupid, risky… all those things.

“Adam, do you want some more wine?” Asked Alison.

“Uh, god yes,” he said, as polite as he could manage.

As Alison reached over the table with the wine bottle to refill his glass, she looked directly at Adam. Was she trying to tell him something? When her fingers brushed against his, he knew what the something was. 

Shit, he thought, unhappily. She’s a little drunk, she hasn’t seen a man since Lawrence, and… well, fuck me. He avoided looking her in the eyes and instead reached for the salt, trying to diffuse the situation before it begun.

Diana was happily chatting away. It seemed she was very happy, an occurrence that happened rarely in this family lately. He could see that Alf and Alison were happily goading her on, asking her things to keep her mind from those unhappy thoughts they worked so hard to dispel. 

After the incident with the wine glass, Adam breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed like it may have just been a mistake after all. Alison was drinking quite a lot, he noted, and her eyes were drooping a little. Of course, Lawrence’s wife wasn’t coming on to him! What the hell was he thinking? He realized then, he was lonely—damn lonely—maybe he just wanted it to be something, to feel desired, for once. Even if she was interested, he was not—this was Alison Gordon, now a potentially unstable single mother, and he would not take advantage of her mental state and vulnerability. 

During dinner he was quiet. He wondered what the hell Zep had done to them in that room. He tried not to think about it, but it happened. 

“Diana, are you sleepy?” Asked Alison, later.

The girl had only eaten half of her allotted food, which had been far less than adult portions anyway. She had been excused from the table to watch television. Over Adam’s shoulder, Alison could see her, on the couch, head lulling back.

“Nah,” she said.

Alison put down her glass and picked up a napkin to wipe her mouth.

“I’m going to go put her to bed,” she said.

“It’s alright,” interrupted Alf, who had finished his dinner at that moment. “I’ll do it.”

Alison was about to protest, when he placed a hand on her shoulder, easing her back in to her seat. She smiled at him but said nothing further to stop him as he moved slowly in to the other room to get Diana. She watched as Adam turned his head to see her father carefully rousing the girl.

“Come on, sweet thing, time for bed. Leave grown-ups to talk.”

“Will you read me a story?” She asked.

Alison visibly shook at this; Lawrence always told her stories. It was never the same without him. Diana was looking to get back little pieces of Lawrence, just like Adam.

“Sure,” he said kindly.

Diana took her Grandfather’s hand and together they went off to her bedroom, leaving Adam alone with Alison.

He wasn’t entirely certain that was a good idea; he’d been asked various questions all night—some tame, some personal—but without the older man as a source of conversation, the room fell in to an icy silence. Though the ice, this time, was coming from Adam.

“Are you alright?” Alison finally asked him.

Adam scoffed, “what a question.”

Alison blinked.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just… been a hell of month.”

“I bet,” she said, standing up from her table and moving around to his side.

She sat next to him.

Adam was a little tipsy but he didn’t feel much like talking about it.

She laid a hand on his shoulder, and began moving it up and down in small circles.

It felt good, unfortunately.

“What were you thinking, when you came here, Adam?” She asked, quietly.

He looked at her, but she wasn’t looking at him; she looked distant.

“I was thinking… maybe if I showed up, shit would make sense. Like I’d see you, and your family all back to normal, being normal and happy. That maybe I could walk away and move on and start a new life. But…”

“But what?”

“But I think… I was being optimistic,” he laughed. “If you know me, then you’ll know that’s a fucking hilarious switch.”

Alison toyed with the idea of telling him, but reconsidered. This young man was even more of a mess than she was without Lawrence around. She didn’t need him though, not anymore, not for a while. But Adam seemed to be completely on another planet without him to put what happened in to perspective. What good would it do? If he thought Lawrence was dead, maybe he would eventually be able to move on, get away from Alison and all things labelled an unhappy reminder, and not have any reason to come back.

“You know, Adam,” she said, lowering her hand down his back.

Adam flinched, his head in his hands. She was definitely lonely. He was too, but this was not going to happen. Adam abruptly stood up, threw his hands in the air and exclaimed.

“What’s wrong, are you in pain?” She asked, standing up with him.

Adam frantically shook his head.

“No… no,” his voice shook. “I just… haven’t had much sleep lately.”

Alison, whose face reflected a blatant shame, nodded.

“Okay, well, maybe you should go and catch some sleep,” she hissed, harshly. “If you are that tired, maybe you’d like this night to be over with quickly so you can get the hell out of here? How about that?”

Adam looked at her, frowning; he gathered that she had become quickly upset with him after he shucked off her touching. It wasn’t personal, and he had no problem with her, he just wanted to forget it—all of it.

“Maybe that would be just great,” he retorted, standing his ground.

The pair looked at each other, a treaty met.

Alison sighed and ran her hands through her hair as she moved off around his side. She opened the door to her room, which Adam would be using, and disappeared in it for a moment before returning to Adam, who stood just outside.

“Everything is ready,” she said. “I’ll be next door with Diana, my Dad will be at the room on the other side there if you need us. But can you do me one favour?”

Adam’s lips thinned but he nodded.

“Can you pop your head in there and say goodnight to Diana? I know you’re going to be spending more time together tomorrow, so it would do you no favours to upset her.”

Adam saw the soft smile on her face and he couldn’t help but return it.

“Sure, I can do that.”

As he did as she requested, he saw Diana, tucked up in her bed, with Alf sat next to her. They both stopped and looked at him in silence as he entered.

“Uh, hi,” he said, with some gracelessness he waved a hand. “Just saying night.”

Diana smiled, “goodnight Adam, don’t forget to sleep tight.”

“Sleep well,” added Alf.

Adam retreated from the room as fast as he could and entered Alison’s room. Thankfully she wasn’t waiting for him in her transparent nightgown or something—he could hear her cleaning up in the kitchen. It was a funny thought, but he did half think that maybe she was coming on to him. And if that were true, he’d probably shut her down with his dismissal, so he didn’t have anything to fear.

“Hi, need any help?” He asked, standing behind Alison in the kitchen.

She smiled and turned her head to look at him. Her hands were in the sink, soapy.

“No, thank-you.”

“Alright,” Adam smiled. “Well, uh, goodnight.”

“Goodnight Adam,” she said. “Actually, wait—Adam?”

Adam turned back to her.

“Yeah?”

She seemed to be agonising over some thoughts; she’d taken her hands out of the sink and had rubbed a hand across her forehead, streaking it with bubbles. Adam would have laughed if she weren’t so drunk.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she said, now looing at the floor. “But it can wait until tomorrow, can’t it? I have a lot on my mind and I want to get a good night’s sleep myself if I want to make it to the hospital with a clear head.”

“You can tell me now,” he provided. “Might help clear your conscience.”

Alison smiled wide and closed her eyes briefly, while she formulated herself.

“No, it’ll be best tomorrow—while I figure out the wording.”

“Alright,” he nodded. “If it’s that important…”

“It is,” she supplied immediately. “Goodnight, Adam.”

“Yeah, goodnight.”

He backed out of the kitchen and just made it in to the bedroom to the sound of the Diana’s door softly opening and Alf slipping out. He sat on the edge Alison’s bed and sighed deeply.

“Fucking stupid,” he spat. “Why is everything so complicated?”

He unlaced his shoes and kicked them off sloppily, mind clouded with wine. He wasn’t positive drinking alcohol was strictly prohibited by Doctor Thompson, but he had fucked that particular rule by now if it even existed. He didn’t bother taking off his shirt or pants, and just laid back on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling, hand on forehead. He was thinking, quite deeply, but not too deeply. What if what Alison was waiting to tell him would blow his mind? What if she was just going to tell him that their cat had crapped on his car? His stomach was in knots. He’d had a good meal—more than he’d eaten for weeks—but he was not entirely comfortable. Something kept chipping away at his brain, telling him how much of a failure he was, how much of a dirt bag, reminding him that he’d never find happiness, reminding him that only more shit awaited around the bend.


	7. Another Footprint

“Diana, come on,” said Alison. “You'll be fine.”

“I don't want you to go, Mommy,” replied Diana.

Adam heard this through the bedroom wall. At some point he had managed to fall asleep. It was always weird sleeping in someone else's bed, like you shared something intimately, and while he didn't share anything intimate with Alison, the weirdness had kept him awake for a long time. He tossed, he turned, he stood up and walked around the room. He looked out the window. Eventually he climbed back on the bed and he must have just… passed out, because he awoke in the same spot, hearing activity from Diana’s room next door. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he sat up on the bed. The sheets were a mess thanks to all the activity. Sleepily, he began to smooth out the bed with his hands, though he still remained sat by the low headboard, legs splayed out. He had only a small headache; three glasses of wine was nothing compared to Alison’s four. She acted weird the night before, he recalled with a groan, and suddenly he was looking for any excuse not to leave the room. 

In his hand, was the picture of a young Lawrence. The one Alison tore up. He groaned and remembered that he took it out when he tried sleeping again before finally doing it. It eased his fears long enough for him to relax. Carefully stowing it back in his jeans pocket, he told himself to take care of it. It was his talisman.

Gracelessly, he rolled from the bed, spurred on by the ache in his bladder. The bathroom light stung his eyes, so he turned it off. It was still a little dark.

As soon as he unzipped himself, he heard a light knock on the bedroom door.

“Yeah, I'm in here,” he called, throat hoarse.

Alison's father replied: “alright son, just checking. We’ll have some breakfast soon, if you're interested?”

“No, thanks,” he replied, queasy at the thought of food. “I'll be out soon though.”

He heard Alfred walk away back down the hall; more voices; they met up in the kitchen.

Letting out a sigh, Adam continued unzipping.

Flashbacks came and went; mostly scenes of him in that damn bathroom. They hardly affected him anymore. He wasn't stupid: he knew he wasn’t back there. This bathroom was very different from that hellhole. There were no not-dead corpses in the middle of it, for one. No chains, no Lawrence. He was almost sad about that last one, though he preferred his memories of Lawrence to not relate to their kidnapping, they were, in fact his only strong memories of him. It sucked.

Finishing up in the bathroom, he got the hell out of there before he did begin to see unwanted similarities between this bathroom and that one. He found his shoes and his head, and tentatively left the room as tidy as he could.

Outside, he looked down the hall and saw the now-familiar kitchen. Diana was there in her pyjamas, sat kicking her feet at the table while she ate cereal. Alfred was frying something. Bacon. It made Adam's stomach turn unpleasantly. Too strong-smelling, too damn early. He pulled up a chair before catching sight of Alison.

“Morning,” beamed Diana.

Adam smiled. “You'd better be the only morning-person here.”

Diana didn't get it, obviously, and she continued eating quite happily.

When he did see Alison, with her father at the frying pan. She looked like hell. At least Adam’s fears were denied: she was not—on this occasion, at least—a morning person. He was very thankful for that. Her blonde hair was loose and frayed, and her makeup from the night before was smudged in places. She wore a bathrobe but had obviously not had time to bathe yet. Her father however, was fully dressed. 

Adam imagined Lawrence in Alf’s place; imagined the typical family scene without the trouble. Was this what it would have been like? He was almost jealous, having never really had this type of life. No wife, no kids. He'd never wanted kids, and now he was beginning to doubt he could find a woman who could put up with his post-traumatic-stressed ass long enough for him to even entertain the idea. A bitter sadness followed. He'd always wanted what he couldn't have, and never seemed to actually get it. It was a kick in the ribs—a hell of a reminder that his life was, and never would be, perfect. Sure, he sat there now, looked the part, but he didn't fit in there. He felt like a fly on the wall, observing what he'd never have in the brief miserable excuse he called a life. When he shook his head, it was all gone; Lawrence, was gone, again. He felt like throwing up.

“You look a little pale,” Alison observed.

Adam scoffed. No shit, he wanted to say. “Tell me about it.”

She placed a cup of coffee in front of him, and he moaned his thanks to her before quickly bringing the drink to his lips. She sat across from him, looking tired, worn.

“You okay?” He asked.

It was Alison's turn to scoff. “Is that supposed to be funny?” She sighed.

A pang of sympathy hit Adam for her; she had a lot on her mind, and not just the alcohol. There was the issue of her mother, in the hospital; leaving the safety of the house; leaving Diana alone with a man she barely knew… well, there was no doubt she was troubled. But Adam smiled still.

“Never mind,” he said. “I slept pretty well. How about you?”

He lied, but this sucked. She was bringing him down, further down.

“I'm glad,” she said. “But it's just one of those days, I guess.”

Adam nodded. He had those days. Every day.

Adam declined a second offer of breakfast, but he sat there as politeness dictated and listened to the silence. Diana was talking, but everyone else was too preoccupied to really listen to what she was saying. He couldn't wait for this day to be over so he could leave all this weirdness behind. Of course, he didn't know where he would go or what he would do. But that would come in time. Maybe he'd look up family… nah. If he hadn't heard from them after all this time, with his face in the news, he wasn't going to.

“Will you be alright?” she asked.

Adam raised his eyes to meet hers, asking what she meant. Of course, it was an inane question; he would never be able to say ‘yes’ to that question.

“With Diana,” clarified Alison. “It'll only be a couple of hours.”

He nodded, “yeah, should be fine, won't we?”

Diana looked at Adam as he addressed her; she had been happily talking about ponies with her grandfather when he looked at her. She only smiled and nodded, not quite understanding what they had been talking about before going back in to her monologue.

“That's good,” said Alison.

There was residual animosity between them regarding her behaviour the night before. Adam could see that she had something on the tip of her tongue. She wanted to apologise, but she was too prideful to quite bring herself to do it. It was okay though, Adam would rather not be reminded—just more fucking things on his list of things he was looking to forget. He didn't forget that she had something to tell him, either, but it didn't look too hopeful that he would get much chance to extract that particular information.

Breakfast ended with Diana asking Adam if he wanted to watch TV with her. He agreed and together they went off in to the other room.

Alison hurried in to her own bathroom and took a shower while her father cleaned up around the kitchen. She emerged freshly dressed in something neat and tidy, with her hair tied back and makeup conservatively applied.

“Diana, honey,” she said, coming in to stand in front of the television. “Me and your grandpa are going to the hospital soon to visit your grandma.”

Adam heard the fear in her voice; she didn't want to go, but she knew she had to. It was quite sad to behold, especially when Diana rushed to her mother and hugged her.

“I want to come too,” she pled.

“Oh, no, honey,” she said, softly prying her away and getting down to give her a kiss. “It'll be alright. This is just something I need to do. Your grandma might even be well enough to come home today, and then your grandad will have me to help her in to the car, and there will be more space, you see. Don't worry, you will be fine with Adam.”

Adam cleared his throat and stood. “Er, yeah. We’ll have a little get well soon, Grandma, party. Won't we, Diana?”

Diana seemed to like that idea. She grinned, filling Alison with relief.

“Well, good,” she said, giving Diana another kiss. 

“Can we have a welcome home, grandma, party instead?” Asked Diana.

Adam smiled and nodded. “Even better idea. Good thinking.”

“Hey sweetie, go on and say goodbye to your Grandfather, okay? I have some rules to discuss with Adam before we go.”

Diana frowned, but seeing the gentle insistence in her mother's eyes, she ran off around the house in search of the old man, leaving Alison and Adam alone.

Adam bit his lip, sank his hands deep in to his pockets and shuffled from foot to foot with his head firmly down, only glancing up at her every few words.

“And get dressed,” called Alison, to Diana.

“Rules?” Asked Adam, unhappily.

“No, not really. I just needed to be alone to say this to you.”

“Figures,” he laughed through his nose.

“We will talk later—about what I said yesterday—but right now, I want to thank-you, in case I'm in no mood to do so when I get back. So, thank-you, Adam. You may not realise it, but what you're doing right now… standing around, it helps me more than you may think. Mom and Dad don't know what happened in there, and they don't like to talk about it. They think it upsets me. It does of course, and given a choice, I'd like to run away forever and leave it all behind. But,” she paused. “I can't, just forget, and neither can you. Just being around someone who gets that just, gives me confidence that I'm not alone. So, thanks, Adam, for everything you've done, and are doing. You're a good person.”

Adam laughed, weakly. “Tell my therapist that.”

“Why, do you have one?” She asked with a curious smile, leaning over slightly.

“Please,” he said, crossing his arms. “What they got in books or out of a psychology degree doesn't begin to cover my problems.”

“I don’t see one either—I mean, I tried…”

They remained in silence for a while. 

Diana was seen passing by holding her Grandfather’s hand as they went in to her bedroom.

“When you showed up here, on my doorstep,” she began. “I wanted to throw you out.”

“Yeah, I got that vibe loud and clear.”

“But then I don't know… it made me think… that if you could do it; come all this way, even through all that happened. Well, it gave me hope that maybe I could step out of this house without my daughter and not have to have panic attacks—you know?”

Adam nodded. This was making sense so far.

“I trust you, Adam, and I trust you with my daughter,” she laughed. “You—a stranger. A couple of days ago I would have not ever even considered letting anyone be alone with her. It's amazing—maybe I'm not as screwed up as I thought. You gave me hope, Adam. So, thank you for that gift. I feel, that with that, and my stupid… stupid behaviour last night… I owe you something…”

Adam stopped her, “no, no you don't. It's okay—”

“—no, really,” she was getting emotional, and couldn't be stopped. “I do. I mean, you may think that what you're doing is small, but it means so much to me, more than perhaps it should. So, when I leave, and leave you with my only child, I expect the house to be in one piece and her without a scratch. I doubt anything will happen, and that is such an improvement, like you wouldn't believe! So… I owe you something, to say thanks, and because it's fair, and because I think you deserve this.”

Adam was terrified, but curious. “And w-what is that, hm?”

“The truth,” she said, breathlessly. “It's the truth, and it should have been given to you sooner.”

“Mommy, I'm dressed now,” came the girls voice. 

“That's great honey,” Alison took the excuse, and left.

Adam collapsed on the couch, completely overwhelmed. 

 

Alison didn't want to go, but she was brave and she made the first few steps to the car with ease. It was only in the car that she began to panic. She kept getting out, pretended that she'd forgotten something, went back in to the house, and psyched herself up some more and tried again. The car eventually left, with Alison, some eleven minutes after ten. It was difficult for Adam to watch.

When she finally left, Adam still had not shaken off the electrical buzz that crept through his system. It lingered, and brought him to a perpetual stasis as he sat there on the couch, fingers digging in to his thighs. What could Alison possibly need to tell him? He was brimming with excitement, yet his face was pale as a ghost as the prospects—good, and bad—came to him. Diana sat on the floor in front of him, drawing up welcome home signs for her grandmother. Adam occasionally helped, with scissors or tape and glue, but really, he was too crippled with anticipation to help much. The television blared on, with some obnoxious cartoon character, irritating to all senses, but Adam didn't care. He wanted to go back in time, to shake Alison, and shake the truth out of her, because this waiting… unbearable.

Adam brought some sense to himself, however, when he stopped thinking about it and got down on the floor to help Diana with her project.

He kept the glitter far away from his clothes (that girl really liked glitter) and the scissors far away from Diana, still remembering Alison's not-so subtle warning. He held up bits of tape for her so that she could stick colorful card pieces on a large poster that said ‘welcome home,’ and at the bottom, it said ‘from Diana and Adam’. Adam debated with her for a good five minutes; he didn't think he should have his name on there, since it was all her work.

“Because you are helping, dummy,” she said.

Adam didn't say anything, but felt a comfortable swell of pride inside. The girl was coming around to him, and he warmed up to her too. He didn't ordinarily have much contact with children, because—well, why? Diana was cool though. She wasn't nearly as creepy as he'd seen children to be, like in cringeworthy horror movies. ‘Children aren't scary’, he usually responded with an eye roll. ‘They're annoying. You want scary, try living in my shoes for a week’, he'd say. But no, Diana was neither scary, nor annoying. She was just… a kid.

A kid without a dad. Or was she?

“Say, Diana,” he asked.

“Yeah?” She asked, looking at him.

“About your dad…” he began.

He licked his lips while he tasted the words, making sure he thought this through carefully. His suspicions were, that what Alison wanted to tell him, had something to do with Lawrence, and that Diana, knew it already. Gently he would try to pry.

“When was the last time you saw him?” He asked.

It was a good question, he thought, proudly. Innocent in intent but it would act as a gateway to truth. If Diana hesitated, or replied with anything other than the hospital, then he would know something was up. He didn't think that Diana, being raised the way she was, would be capable of lying. She may refuse to answer, of course, but that only meant he'd have to try harder with his inquiry. She didn't look up, suggesting she either hadn't heard him, or that she was thinking, and thinking meant something other than a simple answer. He waited and waited, as the room became quiet.

“The hospital,” she finally responded, after an agonising minute.

Adam's heart sank; that meant the worse, right? If she last saw him at the hospital, her honesty didn't buff his suspicions. If Lawrence was alive, surely he would have made himself known to his only child by now. And, since he did believe she was incapable of lying, he believed her, and started to let the depression set in again.

“What day is it?” She asked.

Apparently she wanted to change the subject.

“Uh, um,” Adam's eyes scanned the room—his eyes had watered. “Friday. I think.”

Diana nodded, “oh.”

It sounded inconsequential to Adam, but by the quiet sound she made, there was an almost hopeful tinge. Adam's suspicions arose again.

“Diana.” He asked, unscrewing the lid on the glue.

“Yes, Adam?” She responded. Her head was still low as she concentrated.

“When,” he started, slowly. “When was the last time… that you talked… to your daddy?”

At that, she looked up. She didn't look at all surprised. Instead she looked pensive, as though she was thinking.

“Yesterday,” she said brightly.

Adam swallowed; his chest ached; his skin pricked; his mouth went dry.

“Morning,” she added. “He usually talks to me in the morning after I get out of bed, and at bedtime to read me a story. He didn't yesterday though, Mommy said he was busy, and he didn't this morning either,” she sulked.

Adam didn't know what to think. Dizziness came over him so badly that he needed to lean back against the couch to keep himself from passing out. She said it so… normally, like there were no inconsistencies there. He didn't know what to feel. He didn't know what to do.

“Wh-what?”

“Hold this for me,” she asked, handing him a sheet of paper.

He grabbed it robotically. None of this made sense. Either she was seeing a ghost, or Lawrence wasn't dead. No, no, no… he couldn't imagine Lawrence not being dead. He'd gotten used to the idea. Maybe he never fully accepted it, but he was coming around. Had this been this big thing Alison felt he oughta know? He felt sick all over again. His mind began to clear, and when his focus returned, he was looking down at the big poster, almost finished. He'd cut out the letters in pink paper and she had flattened them down. He had no idea how he operated so neatly with his brain in such a limbo.

He must have looked like he'd just been doused in water he was sweating so much.

“How…,” he asked, a little sluggishly. “How, does he talk to you?”

“The phone,” she said, as if it was so easy even a baby could understand.

“Of course,” he laughed. “Of course the phone. How else?”

Diana didn't answer, she only took a sprinkling of glitter and started to distribute it along lines of glue that formed a happy smiling face. It also made their names sparkle like diamonds. It was garish, loud, and glorious. It was at times like these (not that there had been any) that Adam missed photography. Sure, it brought bad memories back from the darkest point of his life, but it had been a big part of his life for a long time, and forgetting that came like quitting an addiction, it left a vacant hole that he needed filling. He'd been left with a lot of holes, Adam, and the physical one in his shoulder was just a visual reminder of how much had been taken from him. He was beginning to hope, however, and that was dangerous; too much hope inevitably left disappointment. If Lawrence wasn't alive… well, he didn't want to be too gullible.

“I think this is done,” Adam said, standing up to get a view. “Wanna hang ‘em up?”

Together they went back to the kitchen, with their projects in hand, and began to arrange them on walls, on the doors and basically everywhere the line of sight would behold upon walking through the door. He decided not to upset Diana with more questions. There was a chance she had been speaking with someone that she thought was her father. It was conceivable, though inconceivably cruel, kind, that Alison had convinced some man to pretend to be Lawrence on the phone, to ease her daughter’s mind, until she was grown-up enough to understand. But that was so unlike Alison, that all the arrows so far, were leading to one truth. And, he knew, that if he followed the footprints far enough, that truth would be undeniable. He only had to pick up the trail.

 

Alison would be arriving, with or without her mother. It had passed one o’clock, a long time to not hear from them. Adam was a little worried that something bad had happened. But then came the phone call. Adam had hoped it was from Lawrence, to ease his concerns the way he did, but no, it was Alison's father, telling him that everything was fine, but that they would be late returning, as Alison's mother needed a little longer to recover. He went in to detail, to which Adam vaguely listened. Alison had a small panic attack in the lobby of the hospital and needed his reassuring hand. She was right—it had been wise for Diana to remain home. Alf asked Adam to take care of himself and Diana and that he was free to access the fridge to fix himself and Diana up something to eat, as they would be late back. It was agonising; Adam needed to hear from Alison's own lips, Lawrence's true fate. And he wanted to leave. But, as it turned out, he didn't want to leave Diana alone, he couldn't do something so heartless. 

When he told her the good news, Diana jumped up and down. He was asked specifically, not to tell her about Alison, so of course, he didn't. He was starting to feel like a part of the family, answering phones, cooking… it was starting to set in, the sense of reality. The surrealism he'd felt when he arrived, and what he had felt before, like he was a walking corpse fit only to be buried, was being replaced by a newer, stranger sense of normality. His baby steps back in to the real world were becoming leaps, and he wanted to take it slow, slow, this was all going too fast. He needed to sit down, and breathe.

“Shit, shit,” he breathed, in and out.

“Adam, I'm hungry,” said Diana.

“Yeah,” he said, opening his eyes. “Okay.”

Adam stood and made his way to the kitchen. He didn't know dick about cooking. He lived in the city, there was no time or space to cook. It explained why he was so skinny; eating practically nothing over the years did very little for him. He got used to being hungry, but skipping breakfast, he figured he might as well take advantage of the fridge. It was no masterpiece, but he didn't want to make too much of a dent in the family's resources.

After they ate, Diana complained that she was bored. Adam asked if maybe she wanted to go for a walk, something like that. She declined and picked up a puzzle book.

“Well, what is it you wanna do?” He asked.

“Nothing,” she shrugged.

“Sorry,” he said. “It's been a while since I was a kid. That means that you do want to do something, right? What, you think I'm too square to be with it?”

“Huh?” She gave him a funny look.

“Never mind,” he chuckled quietly. “Just me, just me being stupid.”

“I don't think you're stupid,” she said.

“I am,” he smiled. “Just give it a bit to sink in. It'll catch.”

“You’re weird,” she sniggered and started drawing lines on paper.

Adam couldn't argue with that: no home; traumatised; lonely; paranoid; jobless… all the great things that made him weird, not normal, out of the ordinary. He didn't even really want to fix those things either, not that he could. If there was a future to be had, it would be no fairytale, and would certainly not be like he'd pictured years ago, but then, whose lives ever turned out exactly as they wanted?

He had some thinking to do, one day, when he was ready to reexamine.

“When will Mommy and Grandpa be back?”

“Don't know,” he said with a big sigh, fixing his hands behind his head. “Soon, I hope.”

“Where will you go, after you leave?”

“What is this? Twenty Questions?” 

“What's that?”

“Never mind,” he smiled. “Just… sit tight, I'm sure they'll be back in no time.”

There was one of her questions troubling Adam, however. He had no plans, no aims, and nowhere to go. He just sort of figured that trip would be the end of his journey, and that he could just crawl up and die after he was satisfied. But, he wasn't satisfied. Revelation was around the corner. But he was still too fucking scared to go chase it. Afterwards, he might just drive around the country for a few months, become a Bohemian, a nudist, live in a colony until news of the cancer bastard’s unfortunate demise reached him so he could come out of hiding. Was that cowardly? He didn't give a fuck. He didn't want to die, that was all.

But what of Lawrence?

Could Alison provide answers?

There was a chance that he'd been imagining all of this, that people were lying to fuck with his brain. He took it out—Alison’s torn picture of Lawrence—and looked at his face. No, he thought. You can't be alive. How? But what if? 

What if?

He pulled out the other picture of Lawrence. The one he'd taken. It was the same guy. Poor handsome son of a bitch.

“Wait a second—no, no—can't be…”

Turning the secret photograph over, he looked at the symbol drawn upon the back, and held it up next to the torn photograph. It may have been his eyes playing tricks on him, but he could have sworn—he could have sworn—that there was a distinct similarity between the symbol, and the logo of the building in the photograph behind Lawrence.

“Huh? What?”

“It's nothing, Diana,” said Adam, hastily as he slid both pictures back in to his pockets. “Just me being weird, stupid Adam. Go back to your drawing, okay?”

Diana grinned at him and did as he asked.

“You’re alive, aren't you?” He muttered, under his breath, a firm diligence on his tongue. “You’re really alive… I'll find you. I will, and I'll make you tell me, why you left me alone.”


	8. Following The Trail

When Alison returned with her mother, Diana and Adam readied the surprise. Adam, however, was extremely hesitant to do so; he imagined an elderly woman, frail from hospital, wanting to return home to a stress free environment, not with a loud band and a strange man jumping up and surprising her. He told Diana he would, but the surprise had to be moved outside.

“Okay!” She agreed.

Together they made signs and a banner and decorated the front of the house. It was still the afternoon and not quite beginning to get dark yet, so there was plenty of time for them to come back and actually see what they'd done. And indeed, an hour later, Alison's Father’s car drove up to the house.

It was like a déjà vu for Adam, who recalled only the day before standing with Alison waiting for Diana to see him and make first impressions. This time, he had some experience at it, and it was only the Grandmother who he had yet to meet, he had less nerves knotting in his stomach. From what he could see of her through the car window, he was relieved to see that she at least was smiling.

Diana became extremely excited, so much so that Adam had to grab her hand to stop her from running out in to the road. And when Alison emerged from the car, she immediately clutched her daughter and hugged her tight, as if they'd been parted for much more than half a day. Alison then told Diana to wait on the lawn with Adam, which she did, while herself and the old man helped the old woman out of the car. She didn't need a wheelchair it seemed, so it was indeed just a slight trip. Supported by her husband on one arm and her daughter on the other, the kindly grandmother shuffled over the curb and on to the path leading up to the house. She exclaimed in delight upon seeing the house with the thoughtful welcome, and then smiled brightly at Diana, and then a politer smile to Adam.

“Oh, my,” she said. “What a lovely welcome.”

As soon as Adam let go of Diana's hand, she took off to hug her grandmother.

She did so gently, and her Grandmother chuckled warmly.

Grandma said hello to Adam, but she was too weak to make any conversation. She made it inside with help and was seated comfortably in her big chair with Diana sat by her feet with a heap of her drawings which she was sporadically showing to her.

Adam had been taken out to the back of the house with Alison and her father. He was extremely nervous; already fearing the worse but hoping for the best. It was quiet out and the sun was going down.

“Just,” she began slowly. “When do you plan on leaving?”

Not knowing whether her feelings would be hurt by just taking off, Adam shook his head. “Dunno. Was planning as soon as possible. Y’know, stuff to do and all.”  
“You don't have to leave if you don't have anywhere to go,” said Alison.

“Yeah, who said I didn't have anywhere to go?” He snapped, defensively. “I have places to go, places with a lot of beautiful girls and no limits. Besides, I'm only in the way here. Thanks for your kind offer though. Now, could you do something actually useful, and tell me what the hell you've been keeping from me? Because I can't—I can't take it anymore—I really can't…”

“Now, calm down,” said Alf, pressing his hands to Adam's shoulders.

Adam pushed himself back, “don't tell me to calm down,” he breathed. “I feel like I'm going crazy, like I'm the only one in the world who is being kept in the fucking dark about something I have no clue… I… I just have no goddamn clue. I-I might as well be dead—I'll go back and ask that psycho if he'll let me be his victim again!”

“Adam, stop being dramatic,” sighed Alison. “I'll tell you, I'll tell you.”

“So, tell me—tell me already. I'm waiting.”

“Well, I was going to break it to you slow, but since you're so eager… I don't see any reason to beat around the bush.”

Adam's mouth went dry; he was on the verge of knowing, truly knowing. He couldn't take any more delays. He paced along the grass back and forth, hands in his hair, breathing irregular. He was scared, but excited.

“No, fuck that, tell me now, please.”

“Watch your language,” warned Alf, who had his support close to Alison.

“Adam, there is something you need to know, and truthfully, I don't know if you were ready to hear it, but seeing you like this… well, it's clear it's what you need to hear. But, Adam, there's not much that I can tell you, and you may want to take this with an open mind…”

“An open—what are you talking about?” He whimpered, like a nervous dog. “Please, tell me, now, before I have a fucking heart attack—sorry.”

“I can't,” she sighed, sadly.

Adam stopped his dramatic pacing and looked at Alison and Alf. He looked about ready to charge. “What, but you said…”

“I know what I said, but Adam, I can't—I can't—actually tell you, as in, I'm not allowed, to tell you. Look…”

Adam really was at wits end; tears were forming too fast for him to wipe them from his tired eyes and he stopped trying. He just turned his back and sunk down on his haunches, hanging his head low and spreading his arms out over his knees. He heard Alison fumbling with something, but was too disheartened to care.

“Here,” she said.

When Adam didn't make the effort to even look, Alison moved around him and forced a small square of paper in to his palm and closed his fingers around it. Carefully unraveling it, he read it, and was confused.

“Who the hell is James Follmer?” He asked, desperation becoming bewilderment.

There was, in addition to the name, an address underneath—a West Virginia address.

“Don't ask questions, please,” she said. “I never gave you that, you understand. We could all get in a lot of trouble if the police or anyone else finds out that we told you.”

“What? What in shit are you talking about,” he rose and fixed his eyes on the name and address. “The police?”

Alison nodded, “yes, it's about Lawrence, Adam.”

“Lawrence isn't dead,” Adam said—no question about it. “Diana really has been talking to him… he… he’s been in contact, hasn't he? And you… when I came here, you said you had to make a call. You told him, you told him I was here and told him not to call for a while until I was gone, right? Because he's hiding, isn't he? He's hiding, and all you—and the police—all knew it, all along and this story about him being dead… cooked up a story, to throw me and others off the scent. Is that it?” He laughed. “So fucking obvious, I am so stupid… stupid fucking Adam. So what? He just… didn't want me to know? Wanted me to think that he was dead? Because it was an accident, me coming here, I didn't want to—I just felt like… I felt like I had to… and he… he's not even dead… and…”

Alison didn't say anything, and neither did Alf; they were respectably silent while Adam reached his own conclusions, correct or incorrect—they couldn't say out loud. They merely watched as he resumed his pacing, much slower this time. It was hard to watch, a broken man reaching the end of his journey. Alison's guilt was eating at her, but she really couldn't ease his mind, and she was sorry for that. Adam was not a bad guy, a little hyperactive at times, sarcastic and brash, but not bad. He didn't deserve any of this. But… she kept her distance. Adam was upset, and with emotions swinging. She didn't want to embarrass him any more by daring to comfort him. He was not in the mood for that.

“God, I would never have found out if I hadn't come here…” He sniffed.

Adam lifted the hem of his t-shirt and buried his face in it. He felt used, like all he was good for was to be lied to and pushed around. He wanted to scream, but composed himself by letting out a grinding growl of rage. It was enough to calm him, for now. Lowering his shirt he stepped up to Alison, took her hands in his.

“I'm sorry, Alison,” he said. “Thanks for telling me, even if you didn't. And this… James Follmer. If he can tell me more, about what he probably shouldn't be telling me… then I gotta go to West Virginia. Now. Before I get too attached to you guys.”

“Adam,” she said, bringing him close for a hug. “Be careful. I know you will do what you want in the end anyway, but Diana would like you to come back in one piece one day. And so would I, for that matter. Keep in touch, won't you?”

Adam nodded, and swallowed the now-familiar lump in his throat.

“I--I'm not going right away,” he said. “Gotta say goodbye to D-Girl and Grandma.”

“‘D-Girl’?” Mused Alison. 

Adam shrugged, “she got bored of spies—wanted to be a superhero.”

 

Back inside, Adam needed some space; space to think, space to hurt. He hated Lawrence for leaving him in such a state, and loved him for keeping his promise. He hated even more the footprints he was being obliged to follow, and loved most of all the thrill of the chase.

Lawrence Gordon was alive somewhere, and he would have Adam to answer to. He no longer felt victimised by his inability to do things—he felt powerful. He wasn't the one hiding anymore. ‘Just try to find me now, cancer-bastard… you won't get close. I'll die before you lay a finger on this particular Adam—or you will. Preferably the last one.’ He was sitting in the kitchen alone, with his head in his hands, listening to the reunited family laughing and watching television. He denied their request for him to join them. He wanted to be alone. The sun was getting low in the sky, and he wanted to burn rubber as soon as possible but didn't want to ditch them now that they'd become acquainted.

He vowed to spit in Jigsaw’s face one day. If he thinks he has any right to judge other people for living their lives, just because he was fucking jealous, that he was dying and they weren't… well, Adam had had enough of playing his game. No more. He'd live however the fuck he wanted to, and not let any whining loser dictate it for him. He'd get fat, if he wanted to, clog his arteries with three kinds of cheese and become a miserable wreck—no one had any jurisdiction over his crappy decisions. Fuck. Him. Sideways.

He was ready, he decided, at that point. Time to blow this joint. No more happy families.

“Hey guys,” he said, knocking lightly on the side of the open door.

All eyes turned to him as he entered. The warm scene invited him in and he was no longer a stranger. They liked him, and he even… liked them… sort of. 

“Will it be alright,” he licked his lips. “If maybe, I watch some TV with you… before I go?”

Smiles all around.

“Of course,” said Grandma, warmly.

“Yes, Adam, please do,” said Alison with the smile of an olive branch.

“Have a seat, son,” laughed Grandpa, gently.

“No, that's alright,” he said, stepping in and moving around to sit on the floor next to Diana.

The two shared smiles and watched the television until Diana fell asleep against his shoulder. He didn't have the heart to wake her and so they stayed like that. At some point a little after ten, the TV went off, and Adam was woken to Grandma’s gentle snoring and the feel of Diana being lifted up away from him. Alison was tapping his shoulder.

“Yeah, I'm awake,” he sat up, sharply.

Grandpa was carrying the sleeping Diana off to her bedroom he saw to one side of him, while Alison had moved to sit next to him, her legs folded under her.

“You don't have to leave, you know,” she said, quietly.

Adam smiled, “yeah, I do. Who else but me has the balls to find your scared-ass husband and drag him back by his neat-ass hair but me?”

“No one, probably,” she laughed. “But he won't be coming back. I'm done with him.”

She said with a quiet determination as she turned her head to face the blank TV screen.

Adam nodded, he didn't need to ask why. It was her business. He was a little impressed with her, though he didn't say it. She was moving on for the good of her family. Lawrence had brought her heartbreak and she was too principled to just forget that because of him missing a foot. It was a foot. It didn't mean he had severed all shitty parts of him that made him do such terrible things. Nope. She didn't need that anymore.

“Is there still time to say goodnight to Diana?” He asked, looking around for the bedroom.

The door was still open.

Alison beamed, “sure, Adam. Go ahead. I'll see you off when you're ready.”

He nodded to her as he stood. One thing he realised about Alison from his almost two days stay with them, was that she wasn't nearly as cold as he first thought. She was actually pretty warm. He expected her marriage made her cold. He would miss her, and reminded himself when he found Lawrence, to ask him what in holy hell he was thinking, throwing it all away for some fling. 

It didn't take long for him to say goodnight to Diana; she had been roused from sleep by her Grandfather when he placed her in the bed. He arrived just in time to finish reading the story, upon Diana's request that he do so. It was stupid, but it filled Adam with all sorts of weird tender feelings he never got from any woman—Diana was a unique case—he felt like he actually wanted this one to stick around. But of course, that was his problem. He knew he had intimacy problems, but hell, drawing up comparisons between every woman he'd ever been with, and one little girl he barely knew, in which the girl won out… he wondered if it wasn't all his fault; maybe he just didn't find the right girl. That was a laugh, Adam told himself: he wasn't really looking for the right girl. They just sort of… found him. And he was certainly not what they were looking for. He wasn't looking for the right girl, he wasn't looking for any girl. He wanted to be alone. He would miss Diana. That was a hell of a lot more than he felt for his series of short-lived girlfriends. He'd miss Alison too, but he'd bonded more with Diana, and felt for her more. Alison didn't want Lawrence around, but Diana surely did. Alison was a strong woman, and Diana was a vulnerable girl; he felt a protective, big-brother sort of bond to her that he didn't think would be breaking any time soon, no matter how far away he went. He wondered, idly, as he watched her eyes drift closed in sleep, if Lawrence ever felt his way for her… he was far away, but always carried his love for those close, deep within. He wondered if there was a place in that heart, filled with Diana, for him.

When he arrived at his car some minutes later, stocked with a few items of food that Grandma insisted he took (all skin and bones, make sure you eat something) and the few pieces of clothing he had on him, he was greeted by Alison, who embraced him briefly.

“Take care of yourself—be in touch,” she pled.

He nodded soberly and got in to his shit car once again. He knew he had to leave eventually, and now hat he was starting up his engine and pulling away, he somehow felt regretful that he was. It was an unintentional hypocrisy; saying one thing, but doing another. He told himself he wanted to leave, that this was destined. But the words didn't change the fact that he felt like punching himself in the face for being so stupid. He felt bad for leaving them. They—and he—needed all the friends they could get.

 

Adam drove all through the night.

It was quiet, but he was alone again. The paranoia rose to its prominent position once more and he was glancing in his rear-view mirror constantly, just checking out every driver of every car that came up behind him; having panic attacks and needing to pull over when his frequent swerving caused cars to honk their horns. It wasn't a feeling that he saw himself getting used to any time soon. He continued like this through until dawn when he simply fell asleep at the wheel by the side of the road. 

The nearest gas station was too far away for comfort, and so when he awoke, he wasted no time in putting his foot down and charging headlong down the highway. There was some build up of traffic when he entered the gas station, but not enough to dissuade him. He filled up and got out of there after asking advice of a well-traveled older man on his current distance to his location. As it turned out, he was heading in the right direction. He cursed his shitty car, but praised that he didn't have it crushed years ago when it perhaps should have been. He drove very rarely, as he lived in the city where it was easier for him. Though now, he was seeing the necessity of having one’s own transport. The thought of hiking across states was pretty rough going. He'd stop every few miles to check maps and bring up data on the crappy old nineties laptop he'd buried under the loose back seat when he found connection to make sure he was heading the right way. He made a wrong turn here and there, but that only came naturally; he corrected his route and continued on. 

Adam was more clueless than ever. The only thing he was sure of, was that somewhere, somehow, Lawrence was surviving. Maybe he'd ran away with one of his girlfriends, and was made to feel less guilty by daily phone calls to his family. He didn't imagine the doctor would do something so selfish. No. He was hiding because he had to, because he was a danger to be around now that he'd escaped Jigsaw’s grasp, like Adam himself. Still, that didn't mean he automatically drew to a perfect hiding spot. 

He understood why Alison couldn't tell him—she probably was unsure, herself—and the fewer people that knew the exact coordinates, the safer it was.

Adam didn't feel safe. Even on the road, constantly moving, he saw every person, every living being as a potential security risk. Everyone was working against him. Then again, he'd always felt like the victim, like he existed only for the world to use him as target practice. He'd lost aim; warped by everything that happened. Ditched his so-called life, his job, his hobbies… all factors in his downfall. He didn't want to quit his photography, but it obviously hadn't led him where he'd expected it to and he didn't want to become a slave to his own misdirection anymore. This was not Jigsaw winning, this was Adam making a choice.

Though, he had, kept a few things, contrary to this decision.

Splayed in the back seats and stuffed in the trunk, were intact camera equipment, tripods, vintage and new cameras, Polaroids, Digitals; he'd lied to himself when he destroyed his darkroom and the camera. He knew full-well they existed. But the destruction of his camera was more symbolic than literal. He didn't really want to quit, and now he had left himself with options should he find himself bored and present at a great photo opportunity. No more ‘detective work’ though. The pay was good if he ever found employers sleazy enough to hire him, which he always did. That wasn't who he was. He didn't want to be a creep following creeps—he'd seen some fucked up shit that he'd rather not see through a camera lens again. So, photography—fine, it paid shit, but at least it was honest. 

He made this decision eating a sandwich at a roadside diner on the West Virginian border.

Truckers, mostly, a few drifters, like himself. The top-end clientele was appropriately absent, and he was strangely comforted by that. At least these people looked like they wanted to kill him at a glance, they weren't trying to hide it.

There was a newspaper on the table in front of him. He didn't want to look at it, but his eyes kept straying to it. The front story was nothing relevant, but a story underneath: highlighting the psyche of a murderer, the story. It was a documentation on a nutcase who ran around stalking kids after school before murdering them and throwing them under cars by the freeway. Some of the pictures made him want to spit out his sandwich, but… he'd sort of seen worse. What made him sicker was that this story, a serious in-depth piece, was not even second, but third, to a story of some dopey celebrity whore, flashing her ass to paparazzi.

“Culture is dead,” he said, shaking his head.

He hoped he was never like that in his young paparazzi phase, but he probably was. It made him cringe how easy it was for anyone to pick up a camera and make thousands by stalking celebrities, invading privacy, and selling them to some soulless magazine men. He tried that life, but it was devastatingly crushing to his will to go on. He felt cheap. He wanted something legitimate… so he became a spy.

No more, though. He pushed the newspaper aside and left the diner.

Tired, he had realised that at another sundown, he hadn't slept, aside from roadside naps. He stopped by a motel the first sign of civilisation. This one was even worse than the last but at least the sheets were clean. His funds were diminished, but he figured he'd have enough left over to survive a few more days. 

Even though he booked the room, he didn't sleep—not right away. He analysed his location and where exactly he was going, and came up with his own set of directions that he scribbled on the back of a motel pamphlet. All was in place for him to make this journey now. All he needed to do was to sleep.

The bed was stiff but as soon as Adam's back touched it, it was a hell of a comfort compared to a car seat. He'd taken off his shirt and cleaned his would with water before retreating to bed. The stinging pain was becoming duller by the day, until it merely throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He hated laying around doing nothing, knowing that that evil fuck likely had poor disciples not unlike Zep, hunting him down… but he was tired—too tired—to continue. He thought of Zep, and grieved him. He killed him. Spent days in the dark alone with his body. During that time he had come to terms with his actions. He'd killed a man, cried until he was so exhausted with pain he passed out. He had to do it, he told himself. If he hadn't, Lawrence would be dead, and so would he. One life, for two. But what of that poor dead man. Didn't he have a family? It made him uncomfortable to think of that, his enemy, only through circumstance, had a life worth more than his. Yet, he was the one alive. When faced with life or death, even the lowest of the low, the suicidal and worthless, would revert to barbaric ways in order to survive. Adam did just that.

Adam closed his eyes.

When he woke the next morning, he would continue his journey. He would find Lawrence.


	9. The Little Diana

Who the fuck is this Follmer guy, anyway?

Adam hoped he would have answers, but he doubted that the answers he provided would lead exactly to what he hoped. He figured one clue would lead to another and another until he realised he was chasing and chasing but never catching. He would have to beat this guy's ass down if he didn't tell him exactly what was going on—unless he was a three-hundred pound bodybuilder, but that went without saying.

Pulling in to the small fishing town a little after nine in the morning the next day, he sought out the address Alison gave him. He felt a little out of place; a city boy in a rural town. The streets were tiny and vacant of cars. He had to admit: it was the perfect hideaway. The middle of nowhere, almost Amish in its duties. There were plenty of businesses operating, unlike in the city where big companies bought out the little parts of America. This place, seemed mostly untouched. It was like he had driven three decades in to the past. Walking down the sidewalks were mostly gruff looking fisherman on their way to the fishing docks to work and the factories. There was also women, which surprised Adam. He didn't think many women took interest in such an industry. Then again, he was barely four tyres in, and already he saw what a thriving business it was—an important part of the town’s economy. It made sense that those in need of work would turn to employment there. Men, women… maybe himself, if he needed to.

That thought struck him, as he still drove slowly through the streets. It seemed like a hard, unpleasant, smelly job, but would anyone really look for him here? And he would be unrivalled as probably the only photographer in town. He could easily find weddings, events, and be exclusive to the local area. Shit, it was an exciting thought. No competition. All his territory for the taking… he'd have to make money at the various fishing warehouses but he could make it work, and feel a hell of a lot more satisfied than he did with his other job. It was something to think about. Though, there was only one problem:

Adam hated fish.

He ate fish, sometimes, but the intense dock smell seemed to take over everything. So ridiculously strong… he wasn't surprised that he big industries steered clear. It would take some getting used to, but he felt good (if extremely queasy) and it was a prospect that appealed to him.

First, though, he needed to seek out Alison's contact.

The phone call came moments later. He needed to pull to the side to answer because safety first. He recognised he number as that of the FBI Agent’s personal number.

“Shit,” he spat. He clicked answer. “Yeah, hello?”

“Mr Faulkner, where are you now?” He asked, immediately.

“Excuse me?” Replied Adam.

“Doctor Thompson, and your apartment manager; say you disappeared all of a sudden. People are worried about you.”

“Look,” droned Adam. “I already told you guys: I'm not coming back until you do your job and catch that guy.”

“I understand that, but you need to keep in touch. Should the worse happen to you, we may lose a lead because you are too far away for us to keep tabs. We're doing our best but we don't have much to work with, not when our witness skips town and doesn't tell anybody.”

“Why didn't you tell me Lawrence is alive?” Adam interrupted.

“… Mr Faulkner…”

“No, you let me believe he was dead, when really he was—what—in witness protection?”

“Adam,” he said, firmly. “We did offer you protection, but you refused. In fact, you didn't seem to have any faith in us doing our jobs. And yes, maybe you shouldn't feel safe until he is imprisoned. But we are not your enemy. Is that we're you are right now? Are you with Mr Gordon?”

Adam scoffed, “like I'd tell you?”

“Alright. Well, moving on, I thought you'd want to know. You have been cleared of all charges following the investigation on the death of Zep Hindle. The District Attorney personally absconded you of all blame. But that doesn't mean your business is done with us. You can't just run away. If you promise to testify, like your friend Lawrence Gordon has, you must make your location known to us at all times.”

There was a moment, when relief didn't quite say it. Adam would have been lying if he said he was blameless, in Zep’s death, but he was relieved to be told he was. It was something he could get off his back. Just one thing to check off that list. He'd mourn Zep, in his own way. It could have been him, manipulated in to murder. He felt sorry for him. What a shitty end.

Adam tuned back in to what the FBI agent was saying a moment later.

“I'm sorry,” he said, shakily. “I can't tell you that yet. I need to find Lawrence.”

“Mr Faulkner, we can't tell you where he is. Only his close family and we are aware of his location and status. I advise you to desist from your course of action; finding him could result in creating additional risk to both of you.”

“No, no,” Adam stressed. “If you'd told me to begin with, I would have been happy just knowing he was alive and well, somewhere…”

“You and I know that isn't the truth,” said the Agent. “And he may be alive, but he is t exactly what anyone would call well. Adam, Gordon had been, as you were informed, under a number of operations, but due to the absence of his foot, he had been fitted with a prosthesis. He is still unable to walk, and many experts doubt he'll be ready for that stage, if ever. He is in a delicate state where recovery is his top priority. Even if you find him, I recommend that you do not hinder his recovery in any way.”

“Duh, of course I won't—I'll fucking help him!” Adam exclaimed.

“Assuming he would take kindly to your appearance.”

Adam couldn't respond to that. His jaw dropped.

“Mr Faulkner, there's something else, about Gordon,” he said. “It may affect your opinion of him, I don't know… but he tore himself up over you pretty bad after we told him we'd recovered you from the crime scene. He was found in your apartment building only days before your release, forcing entry in to your apartment. He has also been the one paying for your hospital treatment and expenses. We found him on the sidewalk in his wheelchair—he hadn't told us where he was. He almost died.”

“Jesus,” said a pale-faced Adam.

“After another operation, we interviewed him about the incident. He only told us that he was leaving you a message. Your apartment manager told us he didn't find anything.”

Adam hung up, reached in to his pocket, and took out the photograph of Lawrence—the one he'd took. He turned it over and looked at the mark badly drawn with a doctor’s penmanship. Then he took out the torn photograph, looked passed Lawrence to the building behind him. The logo of the fishing warehouse behind him was the same as the one drawn on the back of Adam's photograph. Poorly translated, but it was the same thing alright.

Adam fell back in to his seat and sighed heavily, ran his fingers through his damp hair.

Lawrence left him a clue. He knew Adam would look for him when he was capable of doing so. He knew he'd look for him with his family. He knew Alison would help him once Adam showed her the symbol Lawrence had drawn. Alison would recognise it and realise what Lawrence had been trying to tell him and realise he was to be trusted. She would have told Adam where Lawrence was hiding.

The fishing building in the photograph must be nearby, Adam thought.

Adam never showed Alison mark—he didn't have to—he'd earned their trust.

It must have been a special place to them—a happy memory they shared. Only they would have known where his building was. Asking random people on the street would not have yielded a result. No one but those who had been there could have recalled such an obscure area in the middle of nowhere.

Lawrence wanted Adam to find him.

That was important, Adam decided. He ignored the FBI agent calling him back and hung his arm over his eyes while he cried. Lawrence must have been out of his head—or a fucking genius—to leave Adam such a small hint. There was a chance that he might not have found it at all, there were so many factors working against the method that Adam couldn't see the possibility that Lawrence knew exactly what he was trying to do when he did it. Hospital meds and desperation led him to do something pretty damn weird. He hadn't even been relocated, but apparently he knew where he wanted to go. It was all luck.

Of course, Adam had to find him now. He was in this town somewhere. He needed to find the building in the picture.

Lawrence wanted Adam to find him.

Starting the car again, he found a more suitable place to park (in a small free lot with a number of others) and cut the engine. His head slammed against the steering wheel, thoughts a momentary disablement to him. There was just too much to let sink in, so he stayed there like an idiot for a while and just… blanked out.

Lawrence needed Adam...

He hadn't just left him the clue to tell Adam he was alright—he'd left a very specific hint at a vey specific location. Why? Why else? So that Adam could come look for him. Lawrence knew that Adam wouldn't be safe. They needed each other.

 

The town was larger than it appeared, the buildings weren't as tall but why did that matter? There was a large number of warehouses lining the docks and masses of fishing boats. It was a self-sufficient town, it appeared, making money from an abundant resource.

“Had to be fish,” grimaced Adam. “Gross…”

The smell wasn't getting any better; Adam heaved repeatedly as soon as he opened his car door and it got even worse as he started walking. 

Taking with him the pair of photographs, Adam also armed himself with a simple digital camera. He preferred creating his pictures from negatives in a darkroom, but since he was far from such a place, he took with him the only camera in his arsenal that was small enough for him to get by with. He also carried his cell phone, which was low on charge. He left the small lot and moved through some backstreets to a large road that formed several others in town. He passed a school, and it was thriving with children. Adam was reminded of Diana, and her mother keeping her from school; he didn't expect that would last, just up until they were ready. It was comforting to know that there really was life after death.

The sky was light but overcast and Adam trailed towards the outskirts of town.

“Follow that smell…” he mused.

It was pretty damn cold, so close to the sea. The mist grew thicker the further out he got, and it also got colder. Adam wore a light green denim jacket and he had his hands stuffed in his pockets, but he still shivered; his breath formed a cold fog in front of his face which further obscured the buildings in front of him, from sight. Suddenly he had become very aware of how lost he was. He could hear the buoys out at sea ringing their mournful song, accompanied by the choral cries of gulls, echoing through the blanket of white. Panic grasped at his chest, it was all he could do to move his feet in one direction and stick to it.

He'd found it.

The circular formed symbol was red when he saw it cut through the fog, and when the rest of the building came in to view, he saw the big sign for D.W.Atherton’s Fishery. It was a little different than what Lawrence had drawn; full color, and an electric eel—not a lightning bolt. It had an oriental vibe about it that Adam thought was kind of cool.

He snapped a picture of it—the irony amused him.

Adam's heart beat wildly. He found himself standing in the exact spot where Lawrence and Alison had had their picture taken a few years ago. It gave him chills. He was there. He'd found the spot… now what? He just… sort of, stopped. He didn't think he'd ever find it, if he was honest. He laughed, a short, disbelieving laugh. The front door were open, workers were spelling in and out. He could see rows of men and women standing over tables gutting fish.

Turning on heel, he almost slipped on the damp asphalt.

He got a few looks and laughs from passing workers who no doubt got kicks out of seeing city boys like him puking their guts out. Pussy. He steadied himself and spat the shitty taste out of his mouth before straightening up, holding on to his dignity and moving straight up to the biggest, burliest guy he could find.

“Hey, uh,” he did his best. “You know of any guys around here in like, a wheelchair?”

The guy rose his bushy brows. “Wheelchair?”

“Yeah, wheelchair, what are you deaf? I'm looking for a guy in a wheelchair. Late forties, fifties… come on, there can't be too many of ‘em running ‘round here.”

“You know, you are a rude person,” said the big guy, at least a head taller.

“Well, boo-fucking-hoo,” sang Adam. “Blonde… new around here, but he's been here before… real handsome… come on, give me something…”

The man crossed his arms, and looked down, seemingly in thought. He then looked up at him.

“I don't think so, sorry pal.”

Adam sighed. He got the feeling that this might be a long day.

“You should go ask Marty, he's the foreman. He knows all he guys who come by here.”

“Alright, thanks,” he breathed. “Which one’s Marty?”

The man turned around, in the middle of walking away in order to point in the direction behind Adam. “He'll be in in his office by the docks.”

Nodding his thanks, he moved off away from the stench of gutted fish. He didn't know what he hell was so special about this place to Lawrence and Alison. It didn’t exactly reek of romance. After a few minutes walking to the docks, Adam considered that maybe the big guy gave him the wrong directions on purpose, but then, at the end of the he docks where the platforms met solid land were a series of buildings. Probably cafeterias for the dock workers. He found the office, knocked, then walked right in.

At the desk sat an older man, who never looked up from his desk, covered with even more papers than his apartment manager’s.

“Yeah? What do you want?” He asked, gruffly.

Adam warned himself to be polite for once before marching in headlong. This time, however, his warning didn't seem to apply. This guy didn't do polite.

“A big queen outside told me I should see you…”

“If you're looking for a job, here's the necessary paperwork…”

“No, I'm not here for that—this guy,” he put Lawrence's photograph on the desk. “Have you seen him? I've asked around, no one’s giving me a straight answer…”

“Why?” The man took a slow approach. “He's not in to anything shady, is he?”

“What?—no, he's a friend of mine,” insisted Adam, realising that perhaps the candid shot was doing him no favors. He slid it back in to his pocket. “Please, if you know anything—he's in a wheelchair, most likely. I think he might—”

“Wheelchair?” Said the man. “You mean the new guy—Follmer?”

Adam stuttered, “Follmer. James Follmer, yes, that's him. Where is he?”

“Now, are you sure he isn't in any trouble?”

“No!” Said Adam, slamming his fists on the table. “I told you: I'm his friend. Now, please, tell me where he is. I'll search this whole dock if I have to.”

“It's just that, he said he didn't want visitors, you see… he’ll be on The Little Diana; that's his boat, moored south of here. Weird guy. He looked like he was knocking on death’s door, but said he didn't want any help. Doesn't have a crew, just him, hauls in only a couple of nets a day but he's quiet, doesn't bother my boys. Most are scared of him—out there all day until about two—has some serious balls, working out there all by himself in a chair, and all.”

“God,” gasped Adam. “He's working—actually working? Are you crazy? Don't you know that he's missing a foot?”

“Hey—I told him,” he said, throwing up his arms. “Missing? Well, he looks to have one from what little I've seen of him. Then again, he usually clocks in, clocks out, speaks to no one. I do know he goes to the clinic after work everyday. Physical therapy, most likely—”

“I need to get to his boat,” interrupted Adam. “Like, now. Can you take me there?”

“Are you crazy, kid?” Laughed Marty. “Me? I don't sail, I'm a glorified desk jockey. Besides, that guy's like a ghost, no one'll take you to his boat short of insane.”

“No—now,” insisted Adam, shouting. “He's on wheels on a boat. I need to get there now. I mean, what if he falls in?”

“He's managed alright so far—paid for his own boat to be moored here, we couldn't refuse his money. It was him who wanted to work, we didn't ask him any more than rent.”

Adam thought about it. “You say his boat’s called The Lady Diana?”

He nodded, “hm-hm—Little Diana anyway. It doesn't matter. If you want to see him, I could call him to dock, though you might as well wait. It's close to two now. But I can't take you. I've got a lot of work to do.”

“It's alright,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I'll just wait for him.”

So Adam did. He left the office as fast as he could and marched up and down the dock checking the numbers for the correct mooring. He found it, identified by a wheelchair ramp. He looked out to sea and heaved an enormous sigh. This was it. This was finally it. A monumental moment in Adam's life. It was a lot more nerve wracking than he imagined, and rather chilly. He stood there shivering, frozen between the fog and the sea. He couldn't see Lawrence's appeal in this place. It was creepy. 

“So, you called your boat Diana, too, huh?” He grumbled to himself.

At that, he saw, just cutting through the fog, the masthead of a boat—The Little Diana—coming in. It was white and well-formed. It wasn't a new boat and Adam made a point to remember to ask exactly who was the first Diana in Lawrence's life when he finally set eyes on the elusive doctor. Christ he was dying for a smoke, but amazingly he seemed to have dropped his habit thanks to that fucking dungeon, and the weeks in hospital. His nerves drove him to want a cigarette though; jittering his leg up and down. All sorts of worries and doubts went through him. How would he look? What would he say? Was this really a good idea? Should he turn back and run? Adam was scared. Scared like a child, and just as vulnerable. The boat was slowly inching closer and closer. And Adam doubted at first that there was anyone aboard it moved with such a creeping distress. Lawrence surely picked a hell of a place to disappear off the face of the earth.


	10. The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter to feature Lawrence Gordon. It's been a long time coming and honestly, I didn't think it would take this long. If you stuck through all of this, you deserve a medal.

Lawrence Gordon saw the man waiting on the dock. Instantly his fears grew from the regular steady course to a paralysing grip over him. Never had he had such a crisis of emotion; his only option was to either face it, or run, and he'd had enough of running. He hoped it was Adam, but there was the possibility that it might not be. There was the possibility that it might be something unutterably terrifying. Then again, Lawrence was an oncologist, if he ever backed down from a challenge it was news to him. He steadied the boat, towing the lines nice and easy, bringing it in to land. He didn't look at the shadow in the mist again until he was at a complete stop.

Wheeling his chair carefully to the ramp fixed to the edge of the dock, he grabbed the rope and pulled the boat tight, fastening it tight. He reached down to attach the ramp to the edge of the boat, but found a hand had made it there before him.

Momentarily, Lawrence's heart stopped; his eyes jumped upwards to cast their sights upon the young man staring back at him.

“You look like shit,” said Lawrence, huskily.

Adam replied: “You took the words right out of my mouth, man.”

A nervous laugh followed. Adam couldn't believe he was looking at the same Lawrence. He looked smaller in his wheelchair, pale, thinner, with red-ringed eyes and emitting an aura that could only be described as ‘pissed off at the world and everything in it.’ When Adam realised he was staring, his awkward gaze averted elsewhere.

“It's alright to stare,” said Lawrence. “Just as long as you stop blocking my exit.”

Lawrence had been staring too, but he was sharper to the point. Adam was noticeably skinny, and clammy; it was like he'd never left that room. He smiled weakly as the younger man clamoured to get the hell out of the way before Lawrence rolled over him. 

“Oh, shit, right,” Adam leapt aside to give the man space. “Sorry, go ahead.”

Growling something, Lawrence rolled down the ramp and on to the long concrete landing. For a guy with such a new disability, he had remarkable control and mastery of the wheelchair, as if he'd been using it for years. Adam couldn't shake the need though, to want to help him—wheel him—anything! He kept his distance, though he wanted nothing more than to rush to his aid.

A standoff followed, with neither man finding the appropriate words. Both men had no words to exchange; they simply allowed the miasmic silence to drift between them until they could take it no more. It was like they were back; grimy walls around them, blood underfoot and the stench of death between. All awareness of the real world blacked out as the associative connections were re-established, the itch of metal against ankles returned. When all of this fell away again, they were left staring at each other, two figures on a misty dock, and one opening his mouth to speak, but no words coming out.

“What's the matter?” Interrupted Lawrence. “It's not like you to be lost for words.”

“I,” exhaled Adam. “I just can't believe it's really you, that's all.”

“Not what you were expecting, or..?”

“No—I mean, the last time I saw you—god,” Adam gaped in shock at the man, and ran his fingers back through his hair.

“Yes, I remember, Adam,” said Lawrence. 

Adam was left bewildered, speechless, and bothered; Lawrence turned his chair and wheeled around Adam, as if he had just escaped an unwanted stranger. As if struck by a jolt of electricity, he jumped after Lawrence, and grabbed the back of his wheelchair. He wasn't about to allow him to flee. 

Lawrence sighed. “Adam…”

“W-what are you trying to do, huh?” His voice trembled. “I came all this way. You knew that, huh? I came here looking, and you led me here, didn't you? What? Aren't you gonna say anything? No, ‘well-done Adam, you made it all this way?’ Not even a pat on the back?”

“What do you want me to say,” sighed Lawrence. 

He couldn't believe he was acting this way. He accepted that the man was depressed—how could he not be? But Adam did not buy that Lawrence did not have more for him that. After all, it was he that led him here, was it not? He wanted to hit Lawrence, just hit him, but he had a thing about not hitting a guy in a wheelchair.

“Do you expect thanks?” Mumbled Lawrence. “For saving me life.”

Adam shook his head, “nothing—nothing, I don't want anything from you.”

Letting go of Lawrence's wheelchair, Adam stepped back and walked aimlessly back and forth. He expected him to just wheel away in to the fog, or back on to his boat. But he didn't, and Adam was frustrated. Why the hell was this man so confusing? He couldn't understand him. He was starting to feel like Alison, or rather, what he imagined what she'd felt like: lost, grasping pointlessly for something that wasn't there. Adam wasn't about to let Lawrence treat him that way too, he needed to put his foot down now, while he still could. He grabbed Lawrence's wheelchair by the handles and spun him around to face him, his eyes fixed him his, ready to unload.

“I'm sorry,” whimpered Lawrence.

Adam blinked, confused. Lawrence had beaten him to the punch. Moreover, he was crying. 

“Lawrence…”

Not sure of what to do, Adam floundered, he let go of the chair and backed away to look at him. The man was looking at him in such a pained way that he that he seemed to be a different person entirely as to the evasive man he pretended to be. He didn't know what to say. What could he say? Lawrence's eyes burned in to him, with an intensity that rivaled the bathroom. 

"I'm sorry, Adam," said Lawrence. He reached out and took Adam's hand in his own, and Adam had not choice but to let him have it. "I hurt you. I could have killed you. I was so selfish, you didn't deserve that."

"W-what?" Adam tugged back his hand, leaving Lawrence's hand dropping back down in his lap. "No way, now way. You have nothing to apologize for. After what you did... jesus, man... how can you even think that you owe me like that? It hurt like a bitch, yeah, but I got over it. At least I have both my feet. Besides, if you hadn't done what we did... well, come on, neither of us would be here talking right now. So cut that shit out."

Lawrence stopped crying, but his eyes still burned with redness and his lower lip still quivered. He was not the type of man to forget, and he wasn't about to simply forget, just because Adam told him to. He'd shot Adam. Fucking shot him. If he hadn't been delirious with blood loss and such a lousy shot, Adam might not have been so lucky.

"I never meant to kill you," he whispered, hanging his head low. "You have to know that. I-I had no choice, I was desperate, I thought it was the only way to save my family. I didn't want to do it. I regretted it the moment I did it, and I never stopped... and then..." he shivered. "I left you."

Adam's blood ran cold. The memory came rushing back. The darkness, the smells, the terrifying isolation. Then when he blinked, he was back, and looking down at Lawrence.  

Lawrence in his wheelchair; tilted his head up to look at him. 

Adam sniffed back his tears and steeled himself.  

"It’s alright man, forget it.” 

Lawrence saw Adam’s face. He had reminded him of the horror. He hated himself. This was why he left his family, because of the hurt, the pain and the torment his presence caused them. His only companion was this young, angry man, who he’d hurt so terribly. The shooting he could get over, but he would never forgive himself for leaving him there, after he begged him to stay. Logic told him to leave, and he didn’t regret it. Like Adam said, if he hadn’t, they’d have both died. But was this life worth it? Adam was alive, that should have been all that mattered, but he could see the torment there, the need to scream.

“Look,” Adam said, bashfully. “Can we go somewhere a little more private? Preferably not somewhere where you might roll in and drown, and definitely far the fuck away from any bathroom… and these fucking fish…”

The older man smiled, but it was weakened by Adam’s falseness. “I’d like that.” 

Adam joked, but he wasn’t kidding—he really did want to get away from the water’s edge. The whole place reminded him of a black and white horror movie. Leviathan coming out of the water, grabbing Lawrence’s wheel, Adam trying to drag him away. It was stupid, but the openness left him worried. Out in the open, sitting ducks.

The men moved off together, and Lawrence was secretly delighted by Adam’s consideration of him, though he didn’t like being boxed-in as a guy in a wheelchair. Adam kept a respectful distance, but didn’t patronize him by wheeling him around like an asshole. Lawrence didn’t ask for help, and he didn’t want it. Adam kept at a pace with him, not behind or in front. He was surprisingly attentive in that respect. Though, if he were honest, he wouldn’t have minded Adam wheeling him. It was a long, slow struggle, but he was glad to not be doing it alone. They moved through the docks, getting only a few glances from the men Lawrence had been purposely callous to. They made a strange pair: the new asshole, and the old jerk, neither having a particularly good reputation, side-by-side, real friendly-like.

 

“I was lucky enough to find a physical therapist who could deal with my bullshit,” said Lawrence as they made it to the streets.

Adam had only been walking with Lawrence, he didn’t know exactly where they were headed until they were there. The clinic. 

“This isn’t exactly private, Lawrence,” said Adam, standing there looking up at the building with his hands in his pockets. 

“I know,” said Lawrence. “I’m sorry, Adam… I need to make a visit here first. I wont be long.” 

Adam stopped him before he could make it to the doors. “Wait a minute, man, slow down.”

Lawrence’s heart stopped; he was standing so close.

“If you need to be here, I don’t wanna stop you from anything. Just tell me where to wait and I’ll be there. I’m not planning on doing anything else around this metropolis.” 

“I’d rather be with you, frankly,” said Lawrence.

Adam blinked.

“Uh, I meant,” Lawrence licked his lips, looked left, and looked right. “That you came all this way, I should be able to reschedule. It shouldn’t be that hard.”

 “No way,” Adam shook his head. “If you think I’m more important than your recovery… then, well I’m flattered, but come on…”

Lawrence could tell that Adam was uncomfortable, the way his shoulders tensed and the tempo of his voice. 

“Alright, alright,” sighed Lawrence. “You can come in with me. Just… don’t get involved.”

Adam wondered what the hell that was supposed to mean, but, as he followed Lawrence in through the glass doors, he was glad to let the Doctor take charge. He was never one for all of that talking bullshit. He watched and listened as Lawrence was greeted by a pretty young woman behind a desk; she gave Adam a small glance but that was about it. He quirked a brow as he described Adam as his ‘friend’ and asked if it would be fine for him to be present. He considered himself Lawrence’s friend. If you can’t consider the man who saved your life a friend, then you must be a pretty shitty human being. What he thought was strange, was the way that Lawrence said it, with a slight pause between the _my_ and the _friend_ , and coupled with a slight cough. It sounded odd to him. She said it would be fine.

Adam asked no questions as he followed Lawrence, following a muscular black dude in to a large room filled with mats and light. He sat on a bench and had to do nothing but watch as Lawrence was worked over by the guy in a series of positions. It was odd, but not boring. He felt sorry for the poor guy, missing a foot and been flexed and stretched by a guy who looked like he could snap Adam in two. He was sweating just watching. The coach, therapist, whatever, kept referring to Adam, which confused him. Apparently he was supposed to be a little more hands-on as a support for Lawrence, which he didn’t do. 

By the time Lawrence had finished, he was understandably exhausted, more so. And while he was not participating in a full session, it was never easy on him. He was surprised that Adam was there through the whole ten minutes, but he appreciated his presence. He tried to avoid the session all together, but his physical therapist argued and he compromised with a minor stretching. He didn’t even need to dress in anything loose.

“Are you alright, man?” Asked Adam, trying not to smile. 

“Ha, ha,” panted Lawrence. 

There were back outside, and this time Lawrence didn’t object to Adam pushing him. 

“Seriously, man,” laughed Adam. “You looked like you were about to puke in there.”

“I’m glad you find my pain so amusing,” growled Lawrence.

Lawrence pointed Adam down one street, and off they went. The fog had cleared as they moved through to the center of town. There were people going about daily business, never knowing that the pair that moved amongst them were both runaways of a much darker life. Adam envied the simplicity, but he didn’t blame them, and was even thankful for them not looking a little closer.

 

“Say, where are we going anyway?” Asked Adam after realization set in.

“Where you can’t show off with your damn sadism,” said Lawrence. “My house.” 

“So, you got it all, huh?” Said Adam. “Boat, buff dude looking after you, a house… you’ll be telling me next you grew a new foot in a jar.” 

“Shut up,” Lawrence laughed, short, hardly noticeable, but it was there. “You can’t hide behind your jokes all the time, you know.” 

“I’m not hiding, _James_ ,” said Adam. “I’m… coping. Just like you. By the way—what the hell do I call you?”

“We’ll talk about it when we’re alone,” he replied.

“Great. And I thought I was paranoid.”

The first thing Adam thought when seeing Lawrence’s house came out with blunt efficiency: “Fuck! Who lives here, midgets?”

The house was tiny and boxed in by more on either side. There was only one door at the front, and a single four-plate window on the floor above.

“I thought you were rich?” Asked Adam.

As Lawrence fumbled for his key, Adam swallowed; he had been meaning to thank Lawrence, for paying his debts, but he figured now wasn’t the time. Lawrence needed time to chill out a bit. And he did, too, for that matter. They were both tense. This reunion was long coming, and neither of them really expected it to be so soon. Neither had rehearsed what to say when they should meet. Not that words could ever be enough to accurately portray the labyrinthine workings. They chose to not say anything at all.

“It's easier on the wheels,” said Lawrence.

Adam saw why. It was so small even _his_ head almost touched the ceiling. The _house_ was comprised of a single square room, cluttered with a few things, and a kitchen leading through at the back. No doors. It was like a bunker, it scared Adam. There were stairs, extremely narrow—too narrow for the cumbersome chair—leading up to darkness.

“I can see why…”

“It's temporary,” insisted Lawrence with a little hand motion. “Costs practically nothing—lets me use my resources for others—as soon as I learn to walk on this goddamn thing, I'll be out of here… already looking at houses.”

The younger man could not mishear the inflection in his tone; by ‘others’, he meant him, Adam. Lawrence had been overtly, unnecessarily generous and Adam didn't quite know what to do about that. Closing the door came as a mediocre starting point.

“Lawrence,” Adam began, but stopped.

Lawrence did a half-turn in his wheelchair, tilted his head and quirked his brow at him.

“I…,” he couldn't find the words.

All the words, all the gratitude, all the confusion and fear… they all melded to one and weighed on his tongue like an anchor. Instead he let his body do the talking, and rushed at Lawrence with all the grace and nimbleness of a limbless dwarf, throwing himself between the older man's knees. His arms were slung loosely around his neck and he buried his face in to the collar of his shirt. Lawrence reacted immediately, and his arms came and locked firmly around his shoulders.

It was the reunion Lawrence had wanted but had been too wary to offer. He held on to him so tight, so close, the tears followed, springing from another unexpected outburst—this time initiated by Adam. 

“Man, you stink,” sobbed Adam, with a choking laugh. 

“Adam,” murmured Lawrence against his ear. “I've spent the morning on a fishing boat; ten minutes in physical therapy, and now you're getting me riled-up. Of course I'm not going to smell like a botanical garden.” 

“Hm,” he said. “I can't believe it's really you—Lawrence—I've been so… man, they told me you were dead… I knew you weren't, I knew you wouldn't let that bastard win.”

Lawrence's eyes closed as he listened to his outpouring, and began to sift his hand up through Adam's hair. He didn't really need to hear it, he understood, but Adam needed to get it out. “It's alright,” he whispered.

“You got me out,” said Adam, laughing in disbelief. “I can't fucking believe it, you actually got me out of there.”

“Didn't I say I would?” Cried Lawrence, clinging to the boy.

They remained like that for several minutes, with Adam only pulling away after the strain on his knees on the wood floor became too painful. As they parted, Adam quickly regained composure; standing straight, one hand on his hip, the other swiping under his nose. His face was a little red, and he was only just aware of the severity of his outburst. He felt like a sissy. But then again, Lawrence had been crying too, he thought with a heavy exhale.

“It's just… man, I thought I was gonna die for so long in there,” he continued on; nothing able to stop him now that he’d ben given an opening to reveal his feelings. “It was fucking… bad… bad is a shitty word but it’s all I can come up with. I didn’t know whether you were dead—alive—what? And then when I woke, I was drugged out of my mind in a hospital. Now I’m here, and you’re not dead… it’s all just a _lot_ to take in.”

Lawrence understood; it hadn’t been easy for him either.

“And… and you broke in to my apartment? What the shit was that about, man?” He laughed, weakly.

Lawrence smiled.

Adam shook his head, he needed to sit down. Where? He found an old couch that needed dusting, but he didn’t care, he was feeling faint. He sat down with a heavy shaking breath, face in hands. He heard Lawrence wheel around to face him. He took Adam’s hands away and lifted his head to look at him, hands either side of his face. 

“I had to,” he whispered. “I had to do all of those things, like you said. I don’t know why, and I really don’t have a plausible explaination for it, myself. But, it happened and we are here now. Together and alive, and that’s all we really wanted down there, wasn’t it?” 

Adam’s eyes dropped, finding eye contact pretty damn hard. 

Lawrence’s gentle insistence forced his eyes back to his, and the older man, once he achieved this, pressed his forehead gently against his. The ghastly memory struck both of them, but Lawrence would not release Adam; he forced him to remember this important scene in both of their lives. It may have been their last. Lawrence wanted to show Adam that history could be rewritten.

Adam nodded. His eyes were shimmering with held-back tears. 

“I had to get you here, somehow,” he hushed, huskily. “Don’t ask me why, just accept that, please?”

The younger man clenched his jaw; Lawrence was incredibly persuasive up-close. He nodded sharply, before the tears had chance to slip out. He didn’t say anything; his voice would have sounded cracked, frail. _Fucking pussy,_ he thought.

Lawrence, unlike Adam, had no shame of his emotions. He would have cried, openly, if he hadn’t already cried away all his tears. Adam was weak, he realised. Vulnerable. He needed him, but would likely never admit to that. Lawrence had seen countless people cry, wail, completely break down and shatter the walls with their pain. Adam’s was like no other pain, and he was afraid that if he didn’t express himself more, it would have a lasting effect on his ability to _feel_. This wasn’t Adam. Adam didn’t hide. He shouted and screamed, and he gently shook him, just to try and elicit some familiar reaction. Somehow, Adam trusted him in order to get this far. He would not do anything to break that bond of trust, because he knew, Adam didn’t have anyone else he could turn to in this mess.

Lawrence argued: “I can tell you all about what happened to me and all of that, but wouldn’t you rather forget about it? I know I would.” 

By now, Adam had been released from Lawrence’s impossibly kind paralysis, and only sat there, staring at him.

“It’s not that easy, Lawrence,” whined Adam.

“Of course, I know that,” he smiled, and touched Adam’s knee. “But we can do it together, can’t we? I want to help you get better. After leaving you there, after shooting you—”

Adam scoffed, “Great. So this is a guilt thing?”

“—It’s the least I can do,” said Lawrence, ignoring his defensiveness. “You’re the most sincere person I’ve ever met, Adam. You don’t show your feelings too much, unless you’re telling them to go fuck themselves. But, you’re always realistic, and you are honest. You didn’t show me that picture, of my wife and daughter, because you didn’t want to bring me unnessecary torment, and I’ll never forget that.”

“Yeah, I’m real honest,” remarked Adam. “Hiding out in fucking cars taking pictures of rich assholes, fucking poor assholes. Great.”

“But you never pretended that that was who you were,” insisted Adam. “You hated doing that and even though it took over you, didn’t you?”

Adam didn’t answer; it was true—what did he want him to say?

“Adam,” Lawrence gave him space. “I want you to stay—here, with me.” 

Looking back to Lawrence, Adam blinked. It was such a bizarre request. It was an incredibly generous offer, one that seemed impossible to resist. It was characteristically Lawrence: a doctor, built for dealing with people and their emotions. He knew just the way to get to him, and this certainly did. He stood up and walked around the tiny room. Even if he said yes… the place was microscopic. Where was he supposed to sleep?

“I-I don’t really know what to say to that,” he said, ceasing his walking. 

“Then say yes,” said Lawrence, patiently. “I know, it’s sudden…”

“No, no,” sighed Adam. “It’s not that... it’s… it’s…” he teetered off.

Lawrence wheeled his chair back to give him some more room.

“Jesus,” he sneered, and shook his head. “I think I’m gonna need that wheelchair of yours soon enough…”

Reacting quickly, Lawrence grabbed Adam’s hand. 

“Then come here, sit down,” he urged Adam to the couch again. He placed his hand to his forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

Adam laughed. “Always the fucking doctor.”

Lawrence smiled and took his hand away from him.

“I can’t help it,” he shrugged weakly. “Instincts. Are you sure, you’re alright?”

Adam smiled, and leaned back on the couch, spreading his legs slightly apart so to not get his feet under the wheels. 

Lawrence took it as invitation to move closer, so he did, again reaching for Adam. This time his hand, shakily, moved to touch the place on Adam’s shoulder where he had shot. His lower jaw trembled as his knuckles made contact with the material of Adam’s t-shirt.

He jumped, in shock. He wasn’t expecting that. 

“Stupid question,” said Adam, with a sad smile. 

“Can… can I see?” Said Lawrence.

Adam shrugged. “Sure, help yourself.”

He made it sound like it meant nothing, like it didn’t still _hurt_. Lawrence knew it hurt, and could see the unmistakable fear in Adam’s eyes flash as Lawrence reached for the hem of his t-shirt. He proceeded with complete care and gentleness; with his breathing becoming irregular, Lawrence lifted Adam’s shirt, slowly up with both hands. He frowned upon seeing the bruised skin, and tried not to let his hands come in to contact with it. All the while, he kept his eyes shifting from Adam’s increasingly nervous features, to the expanding expanse of bare skin on the boy’s abdomen. Still higher he lifted, until the angry, red corruption on his skin peeked out from just under the material. Lawrence shut his eyes tight. He didn’t want to see—didn’t want to see what he’d done.

“It-it’s okay,” choked Adam. “Keep going.”

Opening his eyes, Lawrence looked up to see Adam. He had closed his eyes and thrown his hands behind his head in a parody of relaxation. Lawrence smiled. No doubt he was thinking of something more pleasant, to take his mind off of the doctor’s examination of him.

Adam breathed, slow and steady. Something about Lawrence doing this, made him feel less gripped with fear than he would have ordinarily. He liked that feeling.

“Tell me if it gets uncomfortable,” murmured Lawrence. “I’ll stop. Okay?”

Adam nodded, abruptly.

He wasn’t okay with it, Lawrence could see, but he was being brave. Up and up he lifted the shirt until the entire mass of Adam’s wound was revealed to him. He opened his eyes to look at it. His mouth opened, a reaction of agonized guilt. He’d done that. He’d hurt Adam. Without realizing it, his fingers brushed skin, causing Adam to flinch and hiss. It was healing, and would hurt like hell until then, and it would be a lasting scar. A tear formed in Lawrence’s eye; remorse so overwhelming that he could no longer look. He wanted to look at it, he wanted to see what he’d done, but his eyes squeezed shut uncontrollably. The doctor’s hands remained in a state of motionlessness, one holding Adam’s shirt up, and the other pressed lightly against his collarbone. Eventually, the strain became too much for his arms, and he lowered both, easing the material back down Adam’s body so as not to cause any additional distress. He opened his eyes and Adam was looking down at him.

“Ask me again,” he said, quickly. 

Frowning in confusion, Lawrence sat back in his chair, looking at the unreadable expression on the young man’s face. It was a strange mix of impishness and trepidation. He didn’t know why, but it made Lawrence happy. He sniffed and lowered his head. The question, he recalled came to him, but he drew it out—he didn’t want to scare Adam off. He raised his head, face lined with a smile.

“Adam,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. “Would you please, come live with me?”

“Fuck me, man,” laughed Adam. “If you’re that desperate, you could have just bought me dinner first—I’m starving,” he groaned, rubbing his stomach the way a child might. 

Lawrence’s brows quirked, but he couldn’t help but smile.

“Dinner?” He asked.

“Sure, why not,” said Adam, reclining. “Call it part of the deal: I get dinner, you get this.”

Lawrence didn’t laugh, although he wanted to. Adam was not the type of man to say something so narcissistic, so he took it for what it was meant as: a joke. Though he did appreciate that more than he let on. He needed his sense of humor, and it was beautiful to see Adam at least trying to act like himself. It meant he was happy with this arrangement. He thought Adam was beautiful. 

“If that’s all I get, I’m grateful,” sighed Lawrence, leaning forward and clapping his hand securely on Adam’s knee. “Thank-you, Adam.”

Adam went quiet, and his smile eased away. 

Lawrence’s worries returned briefly with this shift, but he was confident that Adam wanted this—he wanted to feel safe, secure, wanted—and he wanted this, too. Honestly, Lawrence didn’t know if this would work, but he hoped it would. He wanted to bring Adam in to his life and to be his family, to be there for him, and to make up for all of his mistakes.

“What about dinner, I really am starving,” laughed Adam.

Lawrence smiled, and replied: “Shower, first.”


	11. A New Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I delve more in to the psychology of the characters in this chapter, to drive it down a slow-lane of believability. Something will happen, believe it, but things need to be set up correctly first. Thanks for sticking with me, if you have. I hope all the work will pay off for you.

In his own special way, Lawrence was able to wash himself by using the tiny sink in the kitchen. Sure it was unseemly, but why should he care? A guy with such limited mobility didn't have as many luxuries as those fleeter of foot. And so, it took him several minutes, and he rushed, bracing himself on his hands to lift himself up out of his wheelchair. He'd done this before, and had had many difficult falls, where he simply couldn't pick himself up. He'd lay there and cry and scream and curse that bastard's name for turning him in to such a bitter and useless cripple. Though now, he was getting better, and he was careful, only lifting himself in brief moments and not trying to force himself. Could he ask Adam for help? No, he couldn't. It wasn't a pride thing, Lawrence just didn't want Adam to see him so pitifully weak—still in chains. And so, he was quick, but not too quick as he did all he could.

He heard the shower upstairs begin to run.

Adam was up there, he recalled. It was strange. He'd been there alone for some weeks, and the presence of another actually scared him. His wet hand slipped on the surface and he fell, only just catching his grip on the armrest of his chair. It was mighty difficult and he'd knocked a few things from the counter.

The younger man's feet came pounding down the stairs moments later.

Adam hadn't showered yet; he was thinking. He couldn't believe what Lawrence had just asked him. He couldn't believe his response. He had said yes. Yes to accepting someone else in his life, someone he previously only knew as a cheating doctor. He had no other option. He felt safe around Lawrence, in spite of his condition, he radiated warmth. Adam respected him, but he didn't know exactly what use he'd be. 

It was only when he heard the noise from downstairs did his own protective instinct kick in. Looking in to the mirror, his eyes went wide, his skin chalk-white. He gasped Lawrence's name and rushed downstairs as quickly as he could. If that cancerous freak had found them… had got in somehow…

His heart was thudding violently, it was a horrifying thought, but it was the only one that came, assaulting his brain and destroying all other possibilities. Well, he wasn't about to let that… fuck… hurt him or Lawrence again! He jumped down the last few steps and leapt over minor obstacles to reach the kitchen, then stopped.

“Lawrence?” He breathed, in relief.

Jigsaw hadn't found them. The doctor was on his side on the floor, scrambling with one hand on his chair trying to pull himself up forward in to it. It was gut-wrenching to watch, and again it served as a disturbing flashback of things past. But, of course relief washed over the photographer. It was just a slip, nothing life-threatening, this time. He bent to help him. 

Lawrence didn't want Adam to help him— _he_ was supposed to be helping _him_! His protectiveness over the boy bordered on obsessive; breaking in to his apartment in order to drop hints of his existence; sending him money anonymously; asking him to move in with him: All stemming from an almost paternal affection. He felt the need—the responsibility—to be there for him and give him all the things he should have. Although, he was in no shape to be able to help him, and that just _frustrated_ him.

“Adam…” he warned, gruffly. “It's fine. Really, get off.”

Adam's hands came away from him as though he had just touched fire.

There was a hurt in his eyes that struck Lawrence profoundly.

“F-fine,” he said, shakily. “Be a jerk. Stay down there, see if I care…”

Lawrence sighed. He just didn't want this. He didn't want Adam fretting after him, he didn't ask him to move in for that. He wanted him close, so he could be the one protecting him. But he saw now, it was not entirely realistic. He started to laugh. 

“Oh, great,” spat Adam. “Now it's funny that I want to help? You've got a real sick sense of humor, man.”

Surrendering to his helplessness, Lawrence raised an arm and reached for Adam's help. There was some hesitation in the boy's eyes, a conflict and a mistrust. But he grabbed Lawrence's hand with both of his and tugged to man up so he could get back in his chair. Once seated, Lawrence exhaled deeply. It was a great strain, he was exhausted and in pain, but Adam's presence was an even greater comfort. He held Adam's hand to his shoulder for a long while, gently squeezing, stroking his thumb over the back of his hand.

“Are you alright?” Asked Adam with a nervous laugh. “Didn't break a hip?”

Lawrence laughed, and pushed Adam's hand back away. “Shut up, smartass.”

Adam laughed, but he was worried. How many falls did he take, exactly? He shuddered to think about his time alone on a boat it the middle of open water. It boggled the mind think why he wasn't lying face-down on the surface of the grimy harbour water. And oh, jesus that scared him. His hand found Lawrence's shoulder again, squeezing lightly. This man should be dead. How the fuck isn't he dead?

The kid may have been a smartass, but Lawrence could tell that he cared, and that thought warmed him. They'd been through hell together, and what were once two strangers, had become bonded to each other, for life.

“I'm worried, man,” said Adam. “Are you sure you're alright?”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “I was just… I found it funny. I found it funny that I thought I could bring you here, and it'd be easy, and we'd… cope.”

“I get it,” insisted Adam. “But I mean, it's not gonna be easy when you can't even stand up.”

Lawrence laughed, “I know that… now. I'm a moron.”

“And a proud jerk, too, apparently,” sneered Adam, playfully. He came around and squatted next to Lawrence's wheelchair, hands on his arm. 

“Yeah, sorry,” he grumbled. “I'm still not used… to all this… I'm not ready to be an old man.”

Adam laughed through his nose. “Your not that old. Once you get out of this chair, you'll be back to your old self—as scary as _that_ is—and you won't feel so old.”

Lawrence turned his head, and just… looked at Adam. He didn't know why he was being so kind. It was a side of Adam that he expected would be buried as deep as his head up his ass was, but it was a side of Adam that existed, no doubt. It may have been reserved only for the very special occasions. He doubted that any of his one-nighters got this kind of treatment. It was good, and Lawrence—perhaps foolishly—felt special. He started to notice the way he couldn't maintain eye contact for very long. It was unusually endearing. He was starting to notice many things about him, and was angry, angry at himself for it.

“Thank-you, Adam,” said Lawrence. 

Adam looked away again, and sniffed, hard. He stood and broke the contact. 

“Are you going to shower?” Asked Lawrence, shifting the mood to the mundane.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, rubbing he back of his neck as he moved away. “Are you gonna have a second date with the floor?”

“It's alright,” said Lawrence. “Go. I'll be fine. I'll just be more careful.”

Adam nodded and moved back through to the stairs. 

Lawrence sighed deeply when he heard his footsteps disappear. He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was something going on within himself that he identified, but didn't fully realize. After escaping the bathroom, he couldn't stop worrying about Adam. Now that he was here with him, that feeling had evolved. He recognized the signs, but didn't want to acknowledge them—hopefully they'd pass and he'd get his head on straight. And, hopefully he'd keep himself from acting like a complete fool until then.

It was weird, Adam realized. 

The house was tiny and barely enough for a child, let alone two grown men. The bathroom had a single shower, toilet bowl and sink, but he had to walk like a crab just to get to the shower itself. The water had been running for a while, and Adam rushed to get his clothes off before he wasted any more of it. It was difficult, and no doubt comical to see him bash his nuts on the edge of the sink, swear, and then hobble, holding himself as he squeezed in to the tiny shower, but he managed it without seeing the humor.

Adam spent the shower wary of his body. The hot water brought a new kind of pain, so he told himself to keep it short. There was neither the space nor the time to do anything special, and quantum physics weren't his thing anyway, so he washed and got the hell out of there before his old urges gave him any ideas.

Stepping out of the shower, dripping wet, Adam wondered if Lawrence had ever even been upstairs. He didn't like the thought of him dragging himself up the stairs by the hand rail every night. But whatever he used to do was irrelevant now; Adam would help him—he owed him that much. Having no clothes other than the ones he arrived in, he dressed in his pants and t-shirt again and took the rest: boxers, socks, shoes, in his hands with him. Maybe the washing machine he saw downstairs would work—he didn't know. He certainly wasn't comfortable spending any more of Lawrence's money to buy anything new for himself.

When he padded downstairs, he was surprised to see Lawrence still by the sink, his shirt off, a towel around his shoulders. He was shaving. 

“Shower’s a bit tight,” remarked Adam, standing at the other side of the house. “Tighter than…”

“Adam,” interrupted Lawrence, splashing his razor in the water.

“Yeah?” He said, standing there a little awkwardly, carrying clothes, not sure what to do with them.

“What would you prefer—dinner out, at a nice place? Or pizza and a movie on the couch?” 

Adam scoffed, “like you need to ask? Is everything alright?”

Adam saw right through him, he realized. Lawrence was tired, so goddamn tired. He would have loved nothing more than to be able to show Adam around town and in turn, show the town Adam. But he was utterly spent, and it showed. He didn't want Adam to worry, though, and he really did want to spent some time with him.

“Oh, yeah,” said Lawrence. “I'm fine, I just don't feel up to going out. And, I thought you might want to talk.”kid may have been a smartass, but Lawrence could tell that he cared, and that thought warmed him. e relief washed over the fficuat that a 

Adam shrugged. “I'm tired, too,” he admitted. “And I'm more of a pizza guy, anyway, and even talk is fine as long as more crying isn't involved.”

Lawrence turned to him, and smiled softly. He must have been overly emotional. He'd cried in front of him already, but that was okay, it needed to happen. He needed to apologize. Adam seemed to accept it eagerly, quickly, but he hadn't. Lawrence would never hate himself enough for what he did to him. Well, he decided then and there, he'd try to at least be strong for him.

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “No more crying.” 

Nodding slowly, Adam just didn't know what to do; Lawrence was just… staring at him, again, and not saying anything. He appreciated silence, sure, but this was starting to worry him. Maybe Lawrence wasn't as well as he seemed—what if he had something on his mind that he wasn't ready to discuss? He wanted to keep the mood light, but it always seemed weighted by something. He just wanted something normal, and eating pizza sounded pretty thank-fuck-ing normal.

“Your clothes dirty?” Asked Lawrence, noting Adam's wet hair and clothes in hand.

“Uh, yeah,” said Adam, a little bashfully.

“Well, take them off,” laughed Lawrence. “Pretty pointless having a shower if you're going to dirty yourself again. Come on—get undressed, I will too,” he bargained with a grin. “So you don't get embarrassed.”

Adam scoffed. He was teasing him, obviously, but when baited, Adam didn't often back down from a challenge. He reached down and unzipped.

“Fine. You might wanna turn around, unless you want a private show—kinky fucker, Doctor Gordon—I knew you were in to some shit, but damn… want me to ride in your lap and go for a spin?”

Lawrence knew that Adam was kidding, but he couldn't help the pang of hurt that filled him. To be reminded of his… various exploits was not something that made him feel good. He turned around as Adam suggested, a little offended by his callous insinuation. He tightened his jaw. He tried and tried to bite his tongue, but couldn't quite manage it.

“That's not funny,” he grumbled as he wheeled himself back to the sink. He could see Adam through the reflection in the mirror.

“Who’s joking?” Adam chuckled.

Again, Lawrence couldn't understand the younger man's sense of humor. It was brash, vulgar, and pretty hurtful when it could be. He inhaled and exhaled and told himself to let it go—Adam didn't mean to make it personal, it was just his way. Lawrence had told him to get undressed, he felt uncomfortable, and defended himself by bringing up the past. He got it. Still, he couldn't help the curious glances in to the mirror. He looked troubled. Maybe he knew what he said was not the kindest comment he could have made. But of course, Adam being Adam, he was unlikely to apologize for a stupid comment.

“I'm sorry, man…”

Or he might have been wrong. 

“I don't think, sometimes…” 

“It's alright, Adam, don't worry about it,” said Lawrence with a smile.

At least he knew Adam didn't mean to hurt him. 

Pausing for a moment, Adam continued undressing. He kicked his pants off passed his ankles and dumped his shirt on the pile. He pulled on his boxers again for decency’s sake before heading over to the kitchen with them. He felt like an asshole for his comment about Lawrence's darker nature, and he felt a need to go over to him if for no other reason than to just be there. Carelessly he dumped the clothes in Lawrence's lap.

Lawrence startled for a moment and looked at Adam.

“Take care of ‘em, man,” he winked. “They're my only worldly possessions now.”

Lawrence blanked him, and watched helplessly as Adam sauntered off to the couch. Brazenly he flopped down on it on his back, laying fully across it in just his underwear, hands behind his head, one leg up and over the back. His crotch was uncomfortably in direct eye line, but whatever, he was glad Adam was at least making himself at home. He wheeled over to the washing machine and shoved them in along with some of his own. It didn't pass him by that Adam said he owned nothing else.

“You don't have any other clothes,” he said. “Are you serious? What about your apartment—your cameras and all the things important to you?”

Adam shrugged.

Lawrence, once he'd switched on the machine, had rolled over to the couch and stopped by the end of the couch furthest away from Adam's face. He could see there, the mix of unsure emotions flickering behind the mask.

“I don't believe for a minute that you're really that nonchalant,” said Lawrence.

“Believe what you want, Lawrence,” he said evasively.

Lawrence shook his head. Did Adam really want his life before the hell to be destroyed? That wasn't winning, in his book. The fact that Adam had removed himself from the former Adam Faulkner was disconcerting; Lawrence had given up his previous life out of necessity, to protect his family and himself. He imagined Adam was still terrified. He didn't want to keep any reminders of all of that… then why was he here? Laying splayed out, on his couch? Surely if he seriously wanted to forget everything, he wouldn't even be there with him, of all people. Suddenly he felt lucky, and again, special. What had he done to merit this kind of attachment? His own sacrifice, his foot, seemed worth it, just to see that wonderful, angry young man, laid there and relatively comfortable in his company. 

He set a hand on Adam's leg. “Your cameras, though? Isn't that a part of you?” 

Again, Adam shrugged. “I don't know anymore, Lawrence,” he said. “I don't know what's left of me. I still have some cameras, obviously—because they were fucking expensive and I don't care how evil some people are—I worked to earn them. But… What hell else is there? Pathetic fucking Adam, no girlfriend, shady job—broken dreams, blah, blah. Gee, Lawrence, hm, I know—I'll ask this charming little bottom-feeder to live with me. What's wrong with you anyway? You lose all your sense along with your foot?”

He was smiling, Lawrence, but he removed his hand. 

“I mean, what am I gonna do? I can't live with you forever,” he sighed, dramatically. “I know I'm scared, but I'm more scared of letting this thing beat me. So yeah, I ditched nearly everything. I'm keeping the cameras so one day, when I'm ready, I'll be able to support myself, because no offence, but I don't know if I can spend any more of your rich Doctor-money without owing you something, and I gave up giving blow jobs for cash in college. Is at what you're after, huh? ‘Cause it's all I got.”

“No, you don't owe me anything,” Lawrence said, firmly. “You need to stop thinking like that. And you can stay with me as long as you want, as long as you need—forever—I don't give a shit as long as you're happy. And if you want to start taking pictures again; great, I'll support whatever you feel you need to do or what you choose not to do. It's your life Adam, and I'll be here now, as a part of it, or not.”

Adam was silent, looking down at his hands in his lap.

“I'm not going to dictate your life for you, Adam,” breathed Lawrence. “You don't owe me anything, I'm not keeping you here against your will, and it would be my pleasure, no, my honor to help you along with it every now and again. You deserve it.”

Adam was still quiet.

Lawrence was worried. He wheeled closer to him and moved closer to his face. 

Adam cracked a smile, and flitted his eyes up to meet his. 

“What? Adam?” 

“I was kinda expecting you'd say yes to the blowjob—it'd have been easier,” he laughed. “But whatever, that was nice to hear anyway… thanks… shit, man.” 

Lawrence sat there gaping, like a fish on dry land, at what he'd just heard—not the blowjob part, the thanks—it was sincere. He knew Adam didn't say thanks unless he meant it, and when he didn't mean it, the sarcasm was blunt. There was no sarcasm here. Plus, the blowjob comment sort of did disarm him, a little, and he wanted to change the subject, and concerning himself with Adam's sincerity seemed the perfect distraction. He meant it. He would support Adam with as much money and kindness as he could give. 

“Is there a TV around here?” Said Adam, in need of a change of subject of his own. “It's just… this is thrilling and all, but I think something to fill the awkward silences might just be something that will be cropping up until we get it all out.”

Lawrence nodded sharply. He agreed. The silences were awkward, and tense, and he didn't want to keep up adding to the strain. He pointed Adam to a pile of boxes against the opposite wall to the couch.

The underwear-clad man eyed the boxes, and indeed he could see the corner of a small television behind there. He hopped up off the couch and crouched down there, as obviously Lawrence wasn't capable of doing this himself. It was only a small television and looked like an old model, by a cheap brand but none of that mattered. Adam dragged it out and set it up on top of the boxes while Lawrence wheeled away to leave him at it. Adam then found an outlet and switched the thing on. It crackled with white noise, sending chills up his spine. It didn't take him long to tune a channel—some shit, he didn't care what—and he got back and sat on the couch, more reserved.

Lawrence couldn't get the phone on the wall to work right away; the old man who'd died didn't have any family and much of the technology left in the house was left simply for whoever moved in. And the said technology was mostly archaic and out-dated, and the phone had no dial tone. A quick bash of the receiver against the wall and it buzzed, hissed, and finally he found dial tone. Pulling out his little book of names and numbers he'd collected, from his pants pocket, he found the page of local numbers he'd noted when he did a little reconnaissance, and dialled the pizza place.

“Yeah, hi,” he greeted, and placed his order.

It was a weird experience for him. Mostly he and Alison ate out. Well, they hadn't for a while, and when they did it was always filled with falseness. And he definitely didn't order out, being an oncologist he had no time to wait. Diana liked pizza but only had the pleasure on birthdays when they'd book a place to have a party. Whatever the case, he figured Adam would make fun of him for not living if he said he'd never ordered out before, so, he kept his cool as he knew how, and hung up.

“Christ,” he said, stopping just before leaving the kitchen area.

He caught sight of Adam, on his knees, fiddling with the television’s antennae. This was getting worse, he realized. In reality, he had no business inviting a much younger man to live with him. A man who was psychologically damaged. He meant what he said: that he would support and care for Adam. It wasn't until he saw him again, after all of that nasty mess, did he begin to question his motives. Nonsense, he shook off the feeling of attraction that was plaguing him, and continued onto re-join Adam like nothing had happened to him in those moments of simply watching him, and being grateful for his existence. Because he was grateful—Adam might have died—he was just happy for that fact that Adam was there alive and well, and he could see that miracle as beauty pure and simple, and he wanted to be close to him. Nothing more—that's what he told himself, and that half-truth was just one of the many reasons he returned to Adam.

“Pizza ordered?” Asked Adam with a hint of cheerfulness.

Lawrence nodded with a smile. 

“Bet you didn't do that much before,” laughed Adam.

Lawrence blinked.

“Ordering out,” added Adam. “Rich dudes don't order out do they? They go to fancy restaurants so that they can flash their fucking family and status so no one can see how truly miserable they are. Was it like that for you?”

“Adam,” hushed Lawrence. “I don't know, does it really matter if I did or didn't? It beats being poor, alone and miserable either way, doesn't it?”

“Come on,” Adam groaned. “You don't wanna start this with me, do you? I'm warning you, I'm a bitch when I need to be. I won't go down without the last insult. You're in over your head, Doc.”

“Well, it'll go right _over_ your head,” mumbled Lawrence, audibly. “I need to get some clothes on—it's chilly in here.”

Lawrence moved off, away from Adam and over to the stairs.

Adam's eyes followed him curiously.

“Hey—where are you going? You can't get up stairs by yourself, you'll break something.”

“Adam,” sighed Lawrence. “It's fine, I've done it before.”

“Alright, Mr Pride USA,” sneered Adam. “Don’t come crying to me when you fall on your ass.”

Lawrence sighed, and stopped at the foot of the stairs. Maybe he was being stubborn. He just wanted to get away; he could tell Adam was looking to take a chunk out of something. Heading upstairs seemed like a good idea, and for some reason, he couldn't turn away. What if Adam was right, and he fell? He'd regret killing himself over a bit of awkwardness. With a steely resolution, he turned away and rolled back to him and said nothing more about it, not that there was anything to say.

Adam switched channels incessantly, finally settling.

“I hate daytime TV,” he said. “How long until Pizza?”

“Not long,” replied Lawrence. “It's a small town.” 

They sat like that for a further twelve minutes. Adam had no reason to move, but he did so to grab something for Lawrence to wear, from upstairs. There was only one other room aside from the bathroom. On the bed, which had clearly not been slept on, were clothes. Adam figured since Lawrence didn't have much reason to wear dress shirts, he grabbed him a t-shirt and wore one of the shirts himself since he was getting cold. He wore it with the buttons open and also grabbed himself a pair of sweatpants that he figured Lawrence might wear for more extensive physical therapy sessions, and stepped in to them. 

“Here,” he said, tossing the shirt over Lawrence's bare shoulder as he reappeared downstream.

When he returned, Lawrence didn't question the fact that Adam had helped himself to a few of his old clothes, and just sauntered in. He was actually happy that he felt that at-ease with him that he could do such a personal thing and not think anything about it. Lawrence didn't think anything of it though. Adam looked good, wearing nothing or wearing baggy clothing. But most of all, he was happy, happy that even through his jokes and his insults, he liked Lawrence enough to not only share space with him, but share attire. Hell, he was flattered, and overjoyed that their relationship was developing in to the sense of ease he's always wanted. Lawrence put on his shirt at the sound of the knocking door.

“I'll get it,” said Lawrence. 

“Too slow,” said Adam, who was already there.

He opened the door and collected the boxes and paid the pizza man. He revelled in the warmth and the smell coming from the square cardboard containers, and carried them inside after closing the door. Jesus, he couldn't wait to eat—he hadn't eaten since the earlier roadside diner garbage. He could eat both pizzas he was so hungry, but since Lawrence had set out the money and made the call… well, he earned one.

It was weirdly casual, Adam Faulkner eating pizza on Lawrence Gordon’s couch, with him out of his chair and sat next to him. They had the pizza straight out of the boxes—a first for the doctor—and for the first time since he'd woke in the hospital, Adam actually had an appetite and was finally able to sate it. And, he felt good. He was happy, watching shit on TV and stuffing his face, things he once took for granted—no more—he had never been happier indulging in simple things.

“Oh, my jesus,” moaned Adam ecstatically. “This is so fucking good… haven't eaten anything whole for weeks, man, you have no idea…”

But Lawrence did. It had been a while since he'd had a meal. He carried a small bag of peanuts with him on the boat and ate little else. He didn't intend to tell Adam any of that. He didn't intend to tell him anything; he was wholly loving the orgasmic inclination to Adam's speech as he ate, and enjoyed the pizza, the company, and the atmosphere.

“I mean it, if I met this pizza in girl form, I'd marry her, and for honeymoon I'd eat her all night long,” laughed Adam. 

“All night,” quirked Lawrence. “Sure you don't mean one mouthful then move on?”

“Holy fuck,” Adam choked in laughter for a moment. “Are you suggesting I'd be unfaithful, or that I'm an inadequate lover?”

“You're right,” remarked Lawrence. “I'm the unfaithful one. The other one.” 

Suddenly, Adam turned to face Lawrence on the couch, he moved pretty close, close enough for his crossed knee to overlap his, and his shoulder to press against his. “Hey, I'll have you know, I've never had any complaints. Nope, not one.”

“Is that because there's nothing to complain about?” Lawrence smiled.

Adam laughed, again, this time with a quieter edge. “Well, aren't you just a dick today? Don't believe me? Ask around.”

The older man finished the pizza aside from the crust from one slice, and drank from a cracked white cup, while Adam withdrew the longer time went on, becoming less energetic and more lethargic, even leaning over the arm of the couch and propping one of his feet in to Lawrence's lap. He was plainly very tired, and the excitement of it all; meeting Lawrence; anger; tears; all brought him over the edge after his happiness capped it off. Too many emotions in one day, he was drained. 

Lawrence no longer paid any attention to the television and only listened to his heart. This felt right, being around and being close to this outcast who had opened up to him. He had to laugh, thinking about the friends he used to have: rich, snobby, fake. They weren't his friends, and he was too busy to see them anyway as a surgeon. Adam sold himself as a loner, as someone who was abrasive and insulate. Lawrence found him to be much connecting to him that he would have thought. They were from very different backgrounds, and if not for one terrible, harrowing experience together, they would never have even met let alone bonded in such an important way. Adam was life changing to Lawrence. He changed his views about so many things, about so many types of people. He couldn't help but imagine, as he sat there with him, listening to the young man's gentle snoring, and brushing his thumb up and down on his ankle, that if he hadn't met Adam, he'd have lived his life blindfolded, not wanting to see anything but what existed in his old life. Alison did the right thing, in leaving him. He wasn't a good husband—a good dad, sure—but his work was his obsession, and he'd lost them. Well, Lawrence Gordon was not about to lose any more time in his life to ignorance and arrogance. He was too old to run around with girls, and too old to start a family. Right now, he was just happy being Lawrence, hanging out with his only friend in the world, and breathing in his scent, letting the existence of someone close—who chose not to leave—fill him. Adam hadn't run away from him, like everyone else. And thanks to him, he no longer felt lost and alone.

“Thank-you, Adam,” he whispered softly and closed his eyes to fall in to much-needed sleep beside him.

Moment by moment and beat by beat, Lawrence Gordon was hopelessly, unintentionally, perhaps futilely, immersing himself in the workings of Adam Faulkner, and he could not turn back now, even if he wanted to.


	12. Lawrence Finds His Feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of the earliest conceptions I had for the basis of the story: Adam helping Lawrence, Lawrence reluctant to accept it, being a doctor. This chapter flowed easily but I thought it was a little short, I wanted more depth in the final scene, but I'd already described much of the characters' psychology in previous instalments; I was afraid of repeating myself. Still, it is quite a nice scene in my imagination.

Adam couldn't breathe.

The darkness was overwhelming, suffocating. He could see cold, dead hands reaching out for him with rotting fingers, and he was reaching right back, desperate to escape the encapsulating blackness. But the hands drifted away just out of reach, teasing him with an uncertain future. He was choking in the desolation, finding that no matter how hard he tried; he couldn't so much let out a whimper let alone a scream. His body remained locked in place by the all-too familiar cold metal of a clasp around his ankle. He could actually feel it, gripping his skin.

He woke up sweating, panting, gasping for breath.

As his eyes and brain readjusted to the different surroundings, away from the common nightmare, Adam sat bolt-upright, and looked down at himself; there was no metal around his ankle, and his bullet wound was healing, from the dull throb, which no longer hurt. He wasn't there. He was safe.

“Just a nightmare,” he heard Lawrence whisper.

The young man recoiled. Lawrence was sat with him, and he hadn't even noticed his firm grasp of his upper arms or his soft blue eyes gazing in to his with such concern. He pushed him away weakly and sat at the opposite end of the couch, dragging fingers through his sweaty dark hair with his head hung between his knees.

“ _Just_ a fucking nightmare,” asserted Adam with an angry sob. “Fucking idiot.” 

Doctor Gordon watched him with the same patience he used every day as a doctor. Adam was still suffering, he could see. So was he, but he'd been doing better, slowly. It seemed Adam was fine the night before, and so he was concerned when suddenly he awoke to the feeling of Adam shaking, next to him. Gently he roused him, though it wasn't necessary, as Adam's eyes had already opened by the time he touched him. He tried touching him again, rubbing Adam's back, but he shrugged off the touch. Lawrence reminded himself that Adam was sensitive about certain things. He wasn't looking for comfort—he probably found it patronizing. 

“You're not an idiot,” said Lawrence.

Adam scoffed, “who said I was talking about _me_ , huh?”

Lawrence smiled, and hoisted himself over in to his chair. His weak leg was getting stronger; the prosthetic foot was extremely difficult to adjust to, but he wanted to walk again. The wheelchair was just a crutch, but he wasn't at all ready for steps yet. A session or two of physical therapy and he'd be ready for that.

“I need to get out to the docks,” said Lawrence. 

Adam noticed out of the corner of his eye he struggle that the Doctor was having getting in to his chair, and felt bad. He wanted to help him, but his stubborn post-nightmare humiliation prevented him from being quite so himself with Lawrence this morning. He was grateful for him not dwelling on his various psychological issues, though; it was nice to not have to talk for hours on-end about the intimate details of a stupid fucking dream.

“You're welcome to come with,” he said as he got used to his chair again. “Since you were so concerned yesterday that I might… fall in, and drown, as you so elegantly put it.” 

Adam wiped sweat from his face with the sleeves of the shirt he was wearing. It was Lawrence's shirt, he remembered with some awkwardness.

“Yeah, alright,” he said. “I wanna stop by my car anyway, pick up a few things.”

Lawrence nodded in agreement.

Before making a move, Lawrence dressed in to jogging pants and a loose t-shirt, informing Adam that with introductions done, he intended to complete a full session with his physical therapist, and that he was welcome to join him there too after he out in some work at the docks. Adam asked him what the hell he was doing working, and Lawrence simply shrugged and told him that it kept his mind of things. No more was said.

After a brief few minutes of laziness, brushing teeth, checking injuries, both men left the small building and out in to the foggy, early-morning streets. This time Adam _did_ wheel Lawrence around. They said very little to each other, and made tracks back through to the docks avoiding all distractions.

The men and women were already at work and unlike the day before they paid very little heed to the man in the wheelchair and his young accomplice. 

For Adam the place stank all he way to the house, but the smell was starting to bring him some comfort aside from his queazy stomach. It was becoming a real familiar to him and something that he came to rely on, like Lawrence, and he complained only mutely as he pushed on to the boat. 

“I'll take it from here, Adam, it's alright,” said Lawrence.

“But—”

Before Adam could protest, Lawrence had already wheeled himself up the ramp and on to the boat in a quick burst of strength.

Adam was actually pretty impressed with the willpower he had developed. _It must take a lot out of him_ , he thought. _If I had cut off my foot, I'd probably be a miserable wreck. How the fuck did he ever reach the wheelchair stage? What a guy_. He stepped on after him, with far from experienced sea legs.

“It's better for me if I do the hard parts by myself,” said Lawrence as he started untying the boat from its moorings. “You might want to hold on to something; looks like you're not exactly an experienced seaman.”

Taking his advice, Adam held on to the side and tried his best not to throw up as the ground beneath him suddenly started to wobble.

“Y’know,” said Adam, to Lawrence who was through in the steering compartment by the helm. “It's pretty fucking hard to keep my cool composure when I'm swaying like a bitch.”

Lawrence laughed to himself as he steered the boat, intentionally a little rough to rile up Adam, who clamored to gain a foothold.

“ _Lawrence_ , son of a motherfuck—I swear to god!”

It may have not been very amusing to Adam, but Lawrence found it pretty funny. Of course, once was enough though, and once they were in to the harbor, he behaved himself. He had to: there were many other boats out and a knock against one of them would not have been the wisest course of action. He set anchor at some distance away from the other fishing rigs, and exited the captains’ cabin to a very sick-looking Adam.

“Green’s a good color on you,” he noted. “Not for your skin, though.”

“Oh, fuck you,” groaned Adam, holding his stomach.

Even through his seasickness, Adam helped, setting a net and then sitting back on a rusty old lounge chair.

“I haven't been on a boat before,” he confessed. 

“Really,” said Lawrence, sarcastically. “I couldn't tell at all.”

“No, fuck-face,” spat Adam. “I've been on boats… just not ones this retarded. Couldn't you and Alison have bought something a little more upscale? I've seen your car.” 

Lawrence laughed. “Alison hated fishing, but she ordered me to take some time off, back when we were newlyweds and back when my job wasn't as important… she asked if I liked fishing like most guys. I lied and said sure, thinking she'd just get off my back about it.” 

“She didn't,” said Adam with a roll of his eyes. "Obviously."

“Nope,” Lawrence wheeled up next to Adam and looked over the edge in to their reflections in the water. “Time off became time away, with Alison. I said it was a stupid idea, but as it turned out, we actually had a good time. And she's letting me keep the boat in the divorce.”

While Lawrence was talking, Adam fished out the torn photograph of Lawrence, that he carried with him as if it was still important. It helped him find this place. It was important. He kept it out of sight from Lawrence, figuring he could do without knowing that Alison thought this memory was worth tearing up. He now suspected Alison didn't want to, but subconsciously, or perhaps consciously, she was worried about Lawrence, and thought if she gave him this clue to finding him, Adam would be with him. He hid the picture back in his coat away from sight.

“So,” said Adam, in delay. “You _are_ getting divorced.”

“Hm-mm,” said Lawrence, nodding. “There's no reason prolonging both our misery. Once this is all over, I'll talk to her. We've already made plans… about Diana… when I get a house, after I testify, Diana will come stay with me on weekend and holidays, at least. I call her everyday. It breaks my heart, being so far away, but it's not right that I stay after all I'd done.”

Adam said nothing. 

“Adam?” Asked Lawrence. “Are you still feeling off? You're quiet, which is unusual, for you.”

“No,” he replied. “I still feel like shit. Just need a minute to process that information.”

Lawrence nodded.

“I met her, you know… Diana,” Adam said, smiling briefly at the older man. “She's a cool kid. No one would have dreamed that she was yours.”

“Shut up,” said Lawrence, reaching over and ruffling his hair.

“No, man, I mean it,” said Adam, pulling away and straightening his hair. “Alison was a cold bitch at first—no offence—but she warmed up. Diana was like… dealing with this shit better than we are, so it kinda made me wonder: who taught her that?”

“Alison is good at being a mother,” he replied. “She would be doing her hardest to pretend everything's alright… kinda like I did… before… when I…”

“When you were fucking around,” finished Adam. 

“ _Yes_ ,” sighed Lawrence. “If I hadn't been so stupid, and self-involved…” 

Adam studied Lawrence's face for a moment. He was still beating himself up over his betrayal of Alison. It made sense. He couldn't find anyone else to blame, so he blamed himself. He only had himself to blame.

“Didn't you like… try _therapist_ … _couples_ shit?”

Lawrence smirked. “I was in denial, Adam. How was I supposed to address the issue when there was nothing wrong?”

“Fine,” shrugged Adam.

For a while they continued in silence, Adam still gathering his nerves and his stomach while Lawrence was busy thinking; thinking about the why. Why he cheated and why he lied about it for so long. He knew it was wrong. He didn't want to humiliate Alison. It ended badly, obviously, and he regretted all of it. However, Lawrence didn't regret meeting Adam. He was the only good thing to come out of this mess, as fucked up as that sounded.

“She hit on me you know—Alison.”

Lawrence turned to face him, brow raised quizzically.

“She did not!” He laughed.

“Oh, yeah, back in Florida when I met her," grinned Adam. “I shit you not, Doc. That woman is so lonely I swear she would have fucked my brains out on the dinner table if the whole family weren't there at the time.”

Lawrence chuckled and brought Adam to him with an arm around his neck, mock-choking him. “You horny little devil, Adam. That sense of humor of yours is going to get you in trouble. If you weren't my best friend, I'd—”

“You'd what,” interrupted Adam. “Take me out to see on a shitty boat—no witnesses?”

Squeezing Adam under his arm for a brief moment, Lawrence let go and gave him a look of phoney scorn; he didn't care much for Alison's personal business nowadays, but he was pretty impressed by her ability to move on. He was a little envious of that, actually.

“Come on, man,” said Adam. “Like I'd fuck your wife?” 

“I know, Adam,” Doctor Gordon chuckled and looked back towards the sea. “I know you wouldn't.”

Slowly, Adam began to develop his sea legs, and become more at ease. He was still nervous, but it was a hell of a lot better than being chained to a pipe. He moved in to the captains’ cabin out of the cold, and Lawrence soon joined him. Adam was sat on a heavy steel bolted chair, pouring water out of his shoes.

“So, you're really doing this,” said Adam, glancing at Lawrence. “The great Doctor Gordon, reduced to a lowly fisherman? Like… how do you live like this? It's gotta be a weird fucking transition… but I guess, if I was you, I'd wanna live off the grid, too. Rich guys make a lot of enemies, don't they?”

Lawrence flipped a switch on the control panel next to Adam, and turned on the lights on the inside and the outside. He set his chair by a small monitor.

“No, Adam,” he replied. “Unlike you, I wasn't gifted with an abrasive personality. I didn't have a lot of enemies. Just the one.”

Sharply, Adam looked down.

“I didn't mean it like that,” said Adam, quietly.

“I know,” said Lawrence. “But it's true: I used to like people. I used to want to save them, and help them. I did all I could. How could anyone blame me for that?”

“Some people are just sick-fucks,” shrugged Adam. 

“Yes. They are,” he added, sombrely. “But no, I didn't want to be a fisherman. And I'm not—technically—just a hobby, to keep me busy and keep my body in good order. I plan to return to work at some point, after I get the all-clear. That's what I'm waiting for really, and I'm trying, because I really need to get better, and get out there. The local hospital—a quiet place—is in need on an oncologist. I talked to them before I even came here… I have an interview once I'm back on my feet, but because of my disability, it's probable I'll be upgraded to clerical work. Administration board. Doing as little physical work as their insurance covers.” 

“I'm sorry,” he said, hearing the pained distaste in his voice.

“I don't care about the pay; I want to go back to _helping_ people, Adam,” he growled. “The pay is shit, but it's the most a town like this can afford. I'll do it. Until something else comes along.”

Adam tasted his response before he said it. He wanted it to not sound insulting.

“Man, do you really want to go back to that kind of work?”

“Yes,” he glared. “I won't let a disgruntled prick scare me from doing what I love.”

“Right,” said Adam, carefully. “Now, don't take this the wrong way, but wasn't your overworking part of the problem? Like, you lost touch—I'm not judging, so did I—and you lost a whole lot of shit without even realizing. Is that what you want? To kill yourself working, throwing your own life away while some ungrateful dickhead decides you're responsible for his suffering?” 

Lawrence growled, warily. He didn't think Adam would understand his need to do what he did, but after hearing what he said rather than disparaging his opinions, he breathed a heavy, burdened sigh.

“You right,” he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Always,” laughed Adam, nervously. He was relieved Lawrence didn't lash out.

“I guess it's a mentality that's hard to break out of,” he leaned back, stared at the ceiling. “I worked until… all I _knew_ was working. I want to work, to help, but I don't want to become the same neglectful asshole I was before… Adam,” he said, suddenly looking at him, reaching over and gripping his hands tightly. “Help me, I don't want to be that man anymore. I need you, in my life, to be there and to represent something viable that I can look to, and tell me, outright if I'm going back down that route. I need you to just tell me straight—Lawrence, you're fucking up. Can you do that, Adam?”

The younger man looked at him, eyes wide with surprise and wonder.

“Uh, you know I can, man,” he grinned, weakly.

Lawrence exhaled his tension and gave Adam's hands one final squeeze before releasing him and leaning back again. Again he felt thankful, to Adam for opening his eyes. He couldn't help it; Adam just seemed to get to him in ways no one else had been able to. He was irritating as hell, and rude, but he loved him. There was simply no other way to put it.

“What the hell, man?” Said Adam.

“Hm?” Lawrence snapped out of his trance, and worriedly looked at him.

“I'll do you one better and kick that crippled ass of yours, if you want, anything, but really you just need to stop being so demanding of yourself—you're not superman, for christ’s sake.”

The Doctor smiled, but he was far from happy; inside turmoil brewed. He was glad that Adam was there, but the more time he spent around him, the more recognisable the symptoms became. If Adam was going to save him, then who could save Adam? How could they save each other? Lawrence always felt like the saviour, the cool-headed Doctor who did all he could for others. But Adam didn't seem to want him to save him; he liked dealing with his own issues and didn't accept help easily or without grudge… Lawrence couldn't deal with that, while Adam was making him happy, he was as scared and lonely as ever. He wanted to make Adam happy, but he despaired: what the hell did he have to offer? Money, security… Adam wasn't like that. He hung around Lawrence because he wanted to, or so he liked to think.

“Adam,” said Lawrence some minutes later. “Tell me: are you lonely?”

Adam scoffed, “what the fuck? Deep.”

“Come on, tell me.”

“Weird question, man,” said Adam, shifting in the chair uncomfortably. “I don't really know if I wanna answer that…”

“No, I mean…” began Lawrence, hastily. “I'm trying to be good company for you right now, and I know, I'm not the most exciting man on the planet…”

“Ha, I get it,” said Adam. “You're worried that you're becoming a boring old man, now that you're… ahem, retired… and you think you can't keep up with this young buck and his wild ways, is that it?”

“…sort of,” said Lawrence.

“Well, don't worry about it. Right now, you're in the company of one of the most antisocial, pathetic pieces of shit on the planet, so you're pretty lucky: I find you pretty fucking riveting… you know, when you're not crazy and trying to saw off parts of your body, you aren't nearly as much as an asshole as I thought you'd be.”

“Thanks,” chuckled Lawrence.

A few hours later, both men had taken naps, talked some more and were becoming wanton for dry land. Adam helped Lawrence heave in the net—a miserable haul, but whatever, it wasn't about the fish—and set back for the docks cutting back through the harbor. It was still morning and the light had finally cleared the fog. It appeared as though there was a nice day ahead. They moored the boat in no time and left the small haulage for someone at the docks to collect while they sought out Adam's car.

“Man, I'm gonna sell this fucking thing,” he grunted, digging around in the back for a few things.

“Are you really going to leave it there?” Asked Lawrence.

“The car?” He laughed. “Yeah! With any luck someone will live in it—it's doing me no favors—they'll be doing me a solid.”

“Well, if you're sure,” shrugged Lawrence. “It's your car.”

“Damn right it is,” grinned Adam.

 

The physical therapy building was open, and Lawrence was already exhausted from pushing himself the whole way. Adam offered, but he told him no; he needed to work on it today. His therapist could be brutal, and seeing some guy pushing him around was not his idea of working on it. Lawrence couldn't wait until he could walk so he could get out of the chair and never come to this place again. His prosthetic attachment was custom-made to look as real as possible; he never took it off. When the time came for it to be serviced, replaced… he’d do it, but until then, he'd rather not even look down there let alone touch it. It was weird, disturbing, and it was just easier to pretend he just had a broken leg since he got as much manoeuvrability out of it as he would a cast.

Inside the building, Adam walked steadily behind Lawrence, casually eyeing the motivational posters on the wall, scoffing at each one in turn.

“ _Believe_?” Laughed Adam. “What a joke. Yeah, I'm sure you can regrow a foot by _believing_. Fucking idiots.”

“Shh,” said Lawrence, wheeling up to the front desk. 

It was the same girl as always, she was polite but distant.

“Adam, you can sit and wait if you want, same as yesterday—I'll be a while though. You could explore the area; you have your cameras now, right? Why don't you take some pictures?”

Adam chilled at the thought. _No, no not yet, not ready, not ready…_

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “Rather see you screaming in agony one more time though.” 

Lawrence frowned, “you have strange hobbies, Adam.”

When the therapist arrived, Adam sheepishly followed in to the large room once again. It was the second day in a row that he'd been present for Lawrence's sessions, and if he was being honest, it made him uncomfortable.

“Poor Lawrence,” he winced, watching as the large man hoisted Lawrence to his feet.

Lawrence was about to keel over, and immediately reached for his chair—something safe to grab on to. The big guy stepped out of the way and left Lawrence wobbling around. He fell, of course, right on his face.

“Jesus—Lawrence!” Yelled Adam in a panic. “What kind of sadistic—”

He didn't like it. He'd seen Lawrence in more pain than he liked to in one lifetime. He was already down and grabbing his friend's arm and helping him up before he knew he'd even left his seat.

“Adam,” grunted Lawrence, he waved him off once he was sat on the floor. “It's… it's alright… I'm fine. Just, sit out of the way and don't get involved.”

“Don't get—” Adam started.

Lawrence finished, “go,” he said, sternly, silencing him.

The younger man glared in annoyance, and stomped away back to the benches. He was pissed off, and a little hurt. “Fine. You try to help someone for once in your life…”

Lawrence heard him. He'd _hurt_ him. Adam was never obvious about his feelings, but it was obvious to him that he didn’t help just anyone. He didn't care about just anyone. He felt terrible for being so harsh. He was stressed, and angry with himself for falling. He felt like a failure; he'd been doing so well, only to fall again. He glanced over. Adam was sitting there, staring at the floor, arms crossed over his chest. He was so preoccupied; he totally shut out the instructions given by the militant therapist. 

“Adam,” he called, gruffly.

Adam ignored him; he didn't want to make a scene—anymore that he already had. He was beginning to think that it was a mistake coming in with him; Lawrence didn't need him interfering. This was serious business after all and the guy was a pro after all.

Lawrence called Adam again, but he was being so stubborn.

All the while the big buff physical therapist stood there behind like some guru, like this was exactly what he wanted to happen.

It was then that it felt like a switch flicked on in Lawrence, a sudden and intensely possessing desire to reach Adam. He saw him there, at a distance too far to touch, helpless, crying and bleeding again all thanks to Lawrence's hand. His crawling followed. Grunting in struggle and pain, Lawrence got to his knees. _I have to get to him… Adam, I'm sorry, I'm coming. I'll not leave you._ Bracing himself with his hands, the older man lifted himself, with great determination, to his feet. He wobbled, but had control over himself. Keeping his eyes firmly fixated on Adam, Lawrence started to take one shuffling step after the other towards him. He saw themselves in the bathroom, and the whole world melted away. All he knew was that Adam needed him. He wished he could have done this then, but he was thankful that there was no blood gushing from his leg. Step by shuffling step he made it, and everything came in to focus again.

“Adam…” _look at me_.

The voice was so strained; dry like it had been… then… Adam's eyes saw Lawrence's feet right before his eyes, no wheels. He was confused. Looking up, he was both amazed and horrified. Lawrence was standing there, looking like a damn walking corpse with his arms outstretched and staggering pace. He'd walked a solid ten paces. His face foretold great anguish and sorrow; it gave him a cold sweat. In the same instant that Adam stood up to meet him, to grab him and stop him from losing control. However, being the larger man, Lawrence fell against him, in to his arms and together they fell backwards against the benches with a thud.

Terrified that Lawrence was hurt, Adam scrambled out from under him and grabbed his arm. The physical therapist behind Lawrence had taken the job, however, and easily lifted him up from the floor. Both Adam and Lawrence were breathing heavily, but only Lawrence was smiling, leaving Adam even more confused.

“Jesus!” He gasped, grabbing Lawrence by the arms. “You scared the shit out of me, man!”

“Adam,” breathed Lawrence, now upright with Adam's help.

Seeing the look on Lawrence's face: pain, yet mixed with pleasure, Adam shook his head.

“Adam, Adam,” said Lawrence, huskily; he grabbed Adam's arms in reply. “Shh, relax, everything's fine… everything's fine. Adam, I'm here…”

“No, no, man, you…” Adam stopped, and breathed, and saw. “You… you walked…”

Lawrence nodded, happily. 

Adam's fears became complete joy—joy for Lawrence and them. It meant that things were getting better. “Holy shit, that's awesome, man,” he said, with genuine sincerity.

Lawrence accepted the crutch that was deftly shoved in to his grasp and he leaned on it. He was not a natural, but being a doctor, he knew better than anyone the necessity of such a device. He was sorry for the loss of the wheelchair, but looking at Adam's face told him that this was good; this was what he had worked for. He had earned back a piece of independence this day and he had him to thank for it. And while Adam may not have known the integral part he played in this forced recovery, Lawrence would not forget it. The young man gave him confidence, filled his veins with a raging need to live again. It was time, he agreed, to ditch the chair and start using his own one and a half feet again. He felt good, walking, but it felt strange.

"This isn't like riding a bike, at all," panted Lawrence.

“You, er, ready to get out of here now?” Asked Adam.

He held on to Lawrence's elbow as they walked, giving him as much support as he needed. It was heart-warming to the Doctor, who'd not received this much kindness from one person before. Even his own goddamn wife ditched him on the hospital bed. Adam was something else, and his growing fondness for the boy now extended beyond the realms of gratitude.

“Only if you help me—this… is going to take some getting used to,” he said, with hope in his voice.

“You kidding?” Laughed Adam, helping him down the hall, one step at a time. “I'll be there, man, least I can do.”

Of course Adam would help; Lawrence saved his life, gave him a place to stay, walked for him, gave him hope. He never asked for this, all he wanted was to be sure that the man was alive. He cared about what happened to him, and was thrilled, once the initial shock wore off, that Lawrence was finally walking... in a way. Adam figured he'd never really be the same, and would always need something, like a cane, or a chair, or a crutch, but he wanted to be there for him the same ways he had for him. He was ready to start paying Lawrence back.

The epiphany wasn't fast like one might have thought, but it came nonetheless in one swift, fluttering thought: Lawrence Gordon had fallen for Adam Faulkner, and no amount of his Doctor rationalization could deter that truth now. It wasn't a happy realization. Lawrence knew this would never ever be a thing; he could only sit back and enjoy his company while it lasted, and keep his feelings inside, and never let Adam know a damn thing for sanity's sake.

“That's all I can ask,” muttered Lawrence as they exited through the front door and out towards whatever lay on the horizon.


	13. Cold Day In Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A good chapter, this, I think. A turning point has been reached (ooh).

Readjusting to life on legs was never going to be easy.

Adam found himself repeating this over and over as a mantra as he and Lawrence made their way back to the tiny house on the slope. The younger man had to be the support for the doctor, who struggled along slowly with a prescribed crutch. It was taking so long, but Adam really wanted to move things along. He kept hold of him and as patience wore thin, he just kept telling himself that, that it was not easy for Lawrence, he would not immediately regain full control of the prosthetic foot fixed to the bottom of his leg. He tried imagining what it would be like, and had all the respect for him for being able to tolerate this terrible situation; Adam was not brave, unlike Lawrence. He was prone to panic, and stress seemed to sweat out of him with ease. He admired men like Lawrence, who were a thousand times better at life than he was.

When the finally arrived home… home… Adam had to get used to that. It was only a temporary situation but there was no other way to call it; it was home and it was somewhere to go if nothing more. Did he consider Lawrence his family? No—not yet, at least. But there was safety with him and a sense of belonging. They were bound to each other, for better or worse, and he wasn't sure what to feel about that. Without intending to, they had formed a unit, out of a mutual fear and unique perspective.

On the return to the house, Adam was additionally considerate of the older man, whom he still saw as owing him his life and sanity. He was concerned that if Lawrence went and hurt himself again, they would both be screwed.

“This place is starting to grow on me,” drawled Adam.

Inside, Lawrence collapsed heavily on the couch. The walk, although short by most standards, was tiring for the Doctor who didn't see himself as ever getting used to this challenge any time soon. He would, eventually, but now he was disheartened. At the same time he felt incredibly accomplished for being able to ditch the damned chair, with Adam’s help. His therapy was almost over now, and he was looking forward to spending time with the younger man, getting to know him for the person he was and not the poor, terrified kid he had to shoot.

“Adam,” said Lawrence, tiredly.

“What is it, pal,” Adam asked, readjusting a pillow under Lawrence. “You okay?”

“Yes, thank-you, Adam,” Lawrence said, with a happy sigh. “Everything is wonderful.”

“Well, shit,” said Adam, rubbing the back of his neck and, looking at the older man. “What crawled up you and died? A big gay unicorn? A shitload of ecstasy?”

Lawrence chuckled and idly shook his head. “You are one sassy, angry young man, Adam. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

Adam scoffed and moved to sit in front of Lawrence, on the floor, facing him.

“I'm tired,” said Lawrence, closing his eyes.

Adam, taken by this information, reacted swiftly, moving to untie Lawrence's shoes in front of him. “Hey—you know when you asked to see mine,” he said with a mischievous grin, looking up at Lawrence. “Can I see yours?”

Opening his eyes, it took the blonde a whole to get what he meant. “Don't do that,” he said with a groan.

Adam stopped, his grin disappeared and a concern frown replaced it. “Why? I-I'm sorry—does it hurt? I was just trying to help…”

Smiling warmly and leaning forward, Lawrence touched the side of the younger man's face and said “no, Adam. There's nothing there… it doesn't hurt. I simply don't… know how wise it would be to let you see something like that…”

It took Adam a few moments to understand.

Lawrence patiently waited through it, his hand no longer any where near Adam for fear of some kind of defensive response. “Adam…”

“No,” shouted Adam, rising to his feet and backing away. “I get it—it's alright for me, pathetic fucking Adam to bear my soul and let you touch the most painful part of me, but when I wanna do a dude a simple favor, to be a nice guy—for once—I get shot down because the good Doctor doesn't trust me to be gentle. That's it right?” Huffed Adam. “Well, worry not, Mr High-and-Mighty. I won't be trying to touch you with my poison hands any time soon.”

Lawrence tried to stop Adam, to tell him that no, that wasn't it at all; his only hesitation was that he didn't want to see it—the prosthetic. He didn't want the feel of Adam's hands to completely pass him by. He knew he would have felt like a thing, like a fucking chunk of plastic that felt nothing when no someone touched him. Lawrence didn't want that. He wanted to feel where Adam touched him. Before he got the words out, Adam had already left, marching upstairs like a petulant child on a tantrum. He had reason though, and Lawrence felt awful. Should have just let him see…

Upstairs, Adam was furious. He turned on the shower and immersed himself in the ice-cold water, fully clothed. He didn't want to feel anything anymore. He wanted to be numb; numb, dead to all feelings, dead to all fears. He huddled in to the corner and just sat there, letting the water soak him through. He felt alone, completely miserable, and used. He thought Lawrence cared about him, that he wanted him to be there and help him. But if he wasn't aloud to do an easy job like taking off his shoes, where the fuck did that leave them? Of course Lawrence doesn't want me around, I'm just a bottom feeder… what was I thinking?

“Stupid, stupid,” he growled, fisting handfuls of his hair.

Lawrence's guilt overrode all sense, and after a few moments of logical hesitation, he heaved himself up and off the couch and began to shuffle his way over to the stairs, heart pounding in his ears. He didn't know how he was going to do this without Adam. He needed him. Stiffly he put one foot on the first stair, and grabbed hold of he bannister for all it was worth. He couldn't do this—he dropped the crutch, almost fell trying to get it. Gripping his nerve tight, Lawrence dropped carefully to his knees, holding back the sounds of discomfort his throat was pushing out. He started to move up the stairs on hands and knees. He would remain like that if he could, to beg Adam his forgiveness, but no, he only had to worry about getting there first. It was exceedingly difficult, but he had done it a couple of times before; stopped his chair at the foot of the stairs and just flopped out of it and crawled the rest of the way up. It scraped his torso to hell but he'd made it. Now was not as difficult but it was much more urgent. When he reached the top, he lifted himself up, with great strain and refused to look down the flight of stairs—it felt like Everest. He'd conquered a fucking mountain on his hands and knees for Adam… he was delusional if he thought Adam cared about stuff like that. Lawrence's eyes were watery with tears, tears of pain and guilt and utter defeat; he'd come so far only to be struck down in one stupid moment. He felt like he'd failed Adam, shot him again and forced them both back to the starting point.

Getting to his feet was a humiliating agony that should have been easy, should Adam be with him, but he'd hurt him, with something so stupid. He had to get to him, just had to; he wasn't going to leave him in the bathroom this time.

“Adam,” he wheezed, using the walls to hold on to as he navigated the upstairs hallway.

Adam didn't hear him through the rush of water. Even if he did, he wouldn't have responded; the chain was reaching for him again, like a snake, coiling its metallic form around his ankle, threatening to drag him back in to the darkness.

Thankfully the house’s small size meant that the newly-mobile Doctor Gordon only had to keep to the walls to remain upright. It was complicated, using a prosthetic. He was taught the ins and outs and the weight distribution ratio, but all was rather difficult when under pressure. Focus was blurred and obscured, like a wet newspaper, the print hard to determine. He knew the ability was there, and he had the drive, but the vitals was a different story.

Upon entering the small bathroom, the first thing Lawrence saw was the toilet in front of him. Having already heard the sound of running water from downstairs, he hurriedly grabbed the edge of the sink and pulled himself in to the room. His hear broke when he saw Adam there, shivering under the cold spray.

“Oh, Adam,” Lawrence said, miserably.

He didn't know how to explain, that his insecurities were nothing to do with Adam, and now wasn't the time to do so; he needed to get the younger man out of the cold before he caught something. Pushing away from the sink, Lawrence fell, but he no longer cared; he was there now. He pulled himself on to the wet tile and clawed his way to Adam. On his knees, Lawrence cautiously placed his hands on Adam's shoulders, trying not to apply too much pressure. He was freezing, non responsive but breathing. He sighed and reached up to turn off the water that was already pouring heavily over him in a merciless blast. He shucked off his own jacket and carefully placed it around the younger man.

Adam muttered some weak protest, but without conviction.

“I'm sorry,” hushed Lawrence. “I wasn't thinking… I wasn't thinking about you.”

“Why would you?” Adam scoffed, weakly. “No one else does, so why should you?”

Lawrence didn't need to be a world-class surgeon to see that Adam was getting in to one of his funks; the parallels between that bathroom, and this one were drawing thinner, leaving Adam stuck between both worlds. Lawrence wanted desperately to reach in the shower and just pull his ice-cold, soaking wet friend to him and never let go. But, he knew this was the old Adam: stubborn, loner Adam. He needed to defeat this himself. Lawrence would be there, through it all, if he just looked up, he would see the caring blue eyes of a man who cared, and would never intentionally hurt him—never again.

Both men were drenched, but Lawrence wanted nothing more than to comfort Adam, and make him forget. It was foolish to expect that he was easily fixable. They both were affected dramatically by the incident in their kidnapping, but Adam seemed to have taken a heavy burden to his mental fitness. Lawrence wrapped his arms around Adam and pulled the shaking boy to his chest, softly stroking his wet hair and nursing him back and forth like a mother would a crying child. With his lips to his ear, Lawrence mumbled reassuring words and easy hums, expecting Adam to respond and come back up from whatever hell he was slipping back down to.

Eventually, he did, sluggishly disentangling himself from the wet older man. There was a look of sharp confusion in his face. He didn't say anything, he only got up and walked away from the bathroom like a zombie.

Lawrence had been so focuses on holding Adam that he had drifted to sleep in that position and awoke with a jolt as soon as he felt the slow movements of he young man. It took him a while to fully gain his bearings, and when he did, Adam was already gone, leaving behind a set of wet footprints out of the bathroom—handprints on the wall, they may as well have been blood. Lawrence put his hand to his mouth and let go of a clipped, shaking, muted cry. He needed to make sure Adam was okay.

Adam staggered and swayed, moving as if in a state of trance down the small hallway to the bedroom. He was unaware… unaware of many things, but most of all, why he reacted the way he did. He felt like a jerk, and fell upon Lawrence's bed, still totally dressed and completely wet. He'd apologize later, right now he fucking felt like shit.

It was Lawrence's turn to follow the footprints, and when he found Adam there, laid on the bed, his instinct was to cry and just break down. His Doctor instinct drove him from the cold shower and out of the bathroom. He crawled, picked himself up and finally walked, using the bedroom door as his crutch in his urgent need to find and protect his Adam. He didn't protest, or even move as Lawrence's weight fell on to the bed next to him, nor did he offer any resistance when the man began stripping him of his wet clothes. It saddened Lawrence greatly to witness this side of Adam: downtrodden, depressed. It existed in him, as it did in himself and everyone out there, but to a man who saw Adam go through the most terrible shit… this was pain on top of pain. He'd seen patients, cancer patients who just didn't want to be saved, who were ready to die. Adam didn't want to die, of that he was certain, but he didn't know if he really wanted to be saved either. Therefore, he needed to provide him with all the support and care that his heart and body could muster.

“You should've just left me,” muttered Adam, face tilted sideways against a pillow.

Lawrence stopped, pressing a thick towel to Adam's bare back. He threw his wet shirt aside and did the same with the rest of his clothes until he lay there naked. He looked so weak, malnourished, vulnerable. He wanted to fix Adam.

“Why didn't you just leave me,” he went on.

Continuing, Lawrence pulled the towel under Adam until he was wrapped in the thing, and then moved to lean across him, drying his hair. He didn't want to hear this; his face reddened with overwrought emotions, and the paler than usual Adam just laid there like a frozen sack of skin under him. There was angry Adam, funny Adam, and sad Adam, and they were all performed to the extreme.

“You're not talking about the shower, are you?” Said Lawrence.

“You should have just left me to die, it's all I'm fucking good for,” Adam turned his head away. “…waste of skin.”

Lawrence laughed, sadly, “shut up, idiot,” he said, pressing a warm kiss to the back of Adam's cold neck.

Adam shivered harder and clutched on to the towel around him, he felt as though there were needles pricking at him from the inside. So cold, he opened his eyes and grabbed on to the nearest warm thing he could find.

Lawrence recoiled at the sudden movement, but accepted Adam's needs happily, lifting him up and pulling the covers up over him, making sure the young man was wrapped up tight.

“I'll get you some clothes,” said Lawrence, struggling as he stood from the bed. “You're freezing.”

Grabbing hold of Lawrence's wrist, Adam shook his head and pulled the man back to the bed. “No, man… I'm--I'm alright, I just… need a minute. Don’t go to all this trouble, I do t deserve it.”

Lawrence smiled, thankful that his friend was at least coming around. “Don't be ridiculous, Adam,” he chuckled. “Trust me, I'm a Doctor, I know a little bit about making people feel better. You might just wanna stay there, and I'll bring you everything you need. Now, stay put.”

Adam relaxed and laid back on the bed. There was something about Lawrence's patient coaxing that was incredibly persuasive. He felt like an asshole still, but there wasn't anything he could do; Lawrence wanted to help, which meant either one of two things: Lawrence was feeling guilty about what happened downstairs… or he was just a guy who cared. He figured the Doctor switch never really turned off, no matter how crazy things got. He was thankful for his help whatever the case, without him he may have never pulled through the breakdown in the shower. The bed was damp, but it was a damn sight better than freezing to death. He pulled the covers up to his chest and just lay there with open eyes, staring at the ceiling.

Making his way around the room wasn't easy. In fact, it was getting harder. The more he walked and remained upright, the more difficult it seemed to become. Still, he was determined to provide for Adam the warmth he'd been missing in his life. It sounded sappy, when he said it upon his head, but Lawrence was a sentimental person. Learning to hide his personal feelings was a must as a doctor; he could not be anything but impartial and clinical. He'd lost much of his passion in life to his career. Adam came under the strange column of being in need and being someone he cared about, thus creating a conflict in the good Doctor the likes he'd never really had to face before. He'd seen kids, dying, and his family in danger, but none of those events shook him quite as much as Adam Faulkner: a man whose lack of motivation and apparent subculture dealings had brought him to the very brink of human endurance—just like Lawrence. He felt a need to help Adam, because unlike all those other people he had to cure, this one was difficult to cure. Even harder to get along with, but Lawrence Gordon had done the impossible: he got Adam Faulkner to like him. He'd never break that trust he'd placed in him, not now.

Adam had dried within minutes and had been brought his clothes from the dryer (a plain white t-shirt and blue pants), he told Lawrence that there was no need to do all this; he was stronger than he acted sometimes. But Lawrence insisted. When Adam gave him a look of utter confusion and asked him why he was being so fucking attentive, Lawrence only smiled and patted his knee.

“Because I want to,” said Lawrence, calmly.

“Pfft, you're weird, man,” Adam said.

“I have to be,” replied Lawrence.

“I'm better now,” said Adam, sharply sitting; he wanted out of all this touchy-feely crap.

But Lawrence's hands stopped him first, “I'll be the judge of that.”

 

A compromize was reached once Adam's nervous insistence won over the good Doctor, in to letting Adam sit downstairs, figuring it made no difference whet here he was upstairs or down, just as long as Lawrence himself was present. Adam dressed in the clothes Lawrence worked hard to retrieve and tried to look better than he felt. Lawrence agreed with Adam's plea to move downstairs, as long as he could be there, and assess his condition. Of course Adam said he was fine but, Lawrence wasn't. Adam's little episode had scared the hell out if him, made him remember the things he'd mercifully almost forgotten. They moved down the stairs slowly together, with Adam lending the older man his side to lean against until the couch was in sight, he deposited the blonde there.

“Getting real sick of your shit, Lawrence,” joked Adam.

Adam sat next to him with the covers pulled up over himself. He was shivering, and still looked like a drowned rat. He sat frigid, plainly unhappy, but otherwise unharmed.

“Upstairs, downstairs, on boats… if I didn't know better I'd say I've been stitched on to your fucking leg.”

Lawrence chuckled and shook his head. He really didn't mind Adam’s scathing attempts at insults; he'd heard worse, and for Adam it was pretty normal. It was his way of deflecting things that were too difficult to face. He was in truth, impressed by his determination in that respect. After all that's happened, after the miserable, screaming wretch he'd become in the bathroom, it was oddly comforting to know his personality was too strong to be obliterated.

“Should have just let me take off your fucking shoes,” Adam growled, unhappily, teeth chattering.

Lawrence laughed, he couldn't help it. As absurd as he felt, he just laughed, letting his body shake with the volume of it. With a sideways glance he could see that Adam was not amused, but then, he didn't see him smile that often, so he figured—fine. He stopped laughing and leaned over to the other man and put his hand on the back of his neck. He brought their heads together in a carefully executed display of affection.

“Yes, you're right—of course,” chuckled Lawrence. “I was being ridiculous.”

Adam uttered a strange, hissing sound through his teeth, “It's alright for you to take my fucking clothes off, ‘til I'm balls-naked in your bed, but when I…”

Lawrence hushed him, and pressed his head against his in a slight rocking motion until strands of hair—blonde and dark—met and mussed together. “I know, I know,” he reassured. “I'm a hypocrite. I'm sorry.”

“You are a fucking hypocrite, man,” murmured Adam.

“Hey—I can take my medicine, Adam,” Lawrence said.

Adam exited his state of withdrawal after at least an hour; Lawrence had turned on the old television to give them something to pay attention to other than unhappy things. Lawrence, however, felt only unhappiness. The man next to him was there because of him, because even if he didn't know it then, he wanted him there so they could be together, and find solace in the fact that no one else in the world could understand them more than each other. He didn't know if he could be trusted around Adam anymore; his own feelings didn't correspond with his doctor instincts, they clashed, making him unsure of if the course of action he'd taken were a result from his sense as a human being who cared, or from a man who could see no sense other than the cares of his humanity. He loved Adam Faulkner, every short, smart-ass inch of him, he was wonderful, and Lawrence hated himself for it. It wasn't meant to happen. It was wrong, he knew, but he couldn't do anything about it now, only makebelieve that everything was normal. And that meant, less touching, which as a doctor would be difficult with all the concerns he had. Every now and again, Lawrence would look over when Adam's eyes closed and he would just look at him. He wanted to run a hand through his messy hair and whisper to him his oath of love and protection, but better sense told him not to. He kept his distance, on the other side of the couch, near, but not too near, where he could admire but not step on.

As it turned out, Adam got over his little insecurities and warmth soon found his bluing skin again. His eyes locked with childlike enthusiasm to the television screen, where an old puppet show was taking place.

He didn't seem scared, Lawrence observed. More… annoyed. The way he just let his head fall back, and his jaw clench.

“Really?” Adam said, quietly. “Change the channel. Now, please, before I puke.”

Lawrence leaned forward to comply, switching the channels, looking at the screen but not seeing. He was too concerned. What was it that Adam had seen in the innocent puppet show? He had an idea, and so wasted no time in finding something more appropriate to watch. When he heard Adam settle back down, he leaned back, satisfied that what he'd chosen was not offensive to him whatsoever.

“Better,” smiled Adam.

Warning himself not to stare at the rare spectacle of Adam Faulkner smiling, Lawrence sat back and watched the wildlife documentary occurring on-screen. The lions’ lives seemed crammed with danger and unimaginable strife, yet at the same time, viewed from afar, was not at all as complicated. The circle of life was something Lawrence used on a daily basis as an Oncologist; sometimes, bad things happened to good people. It was unfair, but it happened, and it will continue to happen as long as history was still a viable witness to these events. Lawrence asked himself why he just didn't take the chance. Life was too short to fuck it up by willingly encasing one’s heart in ice. Yet, he didn't seize the chance… the circle of life may have been blissfully simple from afar, but up-close, it was easy to break and make something simple become exceedingly complex.

“Do you have any beer?” Asked Adam.

Lawrence broke his rule, and openly stared: he'd been trying to ask that for a while. His forehead creased with a frown and his hand idly scratched under his t-shirt, a naked expanse of skin that the older man tried not to admire too openly, showed just above his waistband, tantalisingly, teasingly there. He growled, under his breath, like the predatory big-cats on-screen. How can he not know what he's doing to me?

“No,” replied Lawrence, shaking his head. “I advised myself from alcohol for a while.”

Adam nodded. “Right,” he said. “Makes sense; the whole, I'm a doctor, I know best, thing. What—you afraid of getting wasted, committing Grand Theft Wheelchair on some old dude on the streets? Doing some drive-by on Country Kitchen? ‘Cause I'd pay to see that, dude… might have actually been something cool about you.”

“Honestly, I haven't drank for a while. Not since…” He stopped. “Well since, you know when. I was concerned for my recovery. The last thing I needed was… to get loaded and get in to some accident or wind up on the wrong end of some hoodlum.”

“Yeah,” said Adam. “Just hearing you say loaded… are you throwing up in your mouth right now? Come on, man, like a guy like you, could ever mix with a social class less than yourself. You'd have a freaking fit.”

“I'm hanging out with you aren't I?” Smirked Lawrence.

“Ooh, that's harsh, Lawrence,” said Adam nonchalantly. He was fidgeting in his seat. “Again, you said you're hanging out with me. I bet your well-bred university guys are all lined up shooting themselves in the face right now, one by one. Seriously, I'm a bad influence. Look at what you're watching right now: not exactly your highbrow entertainment, man. Don't you types go to see operas, or ballet or some artsy shit that no one can understand? Yet…”

“Well, maybe I needed a bad influence to keep my head in the real world,” sniffed Lawrence. He was a little irritated. Did Adam really think he was like that? He let it go. “And for the record: I hate ballet.”

Adam burst out laughing. “You're too easy, man. I'm just kidding, let it slide, asshole.”

Lawrence did, but he could not let Adam get off quite that easy.

Adam had drawn his legs up to his chest in an almost protective bubble.

“Adam, look around: if I was that rich and deplorable, would I really be living in a shithole like this with the world’s most lovable sycophant? Now kindly shut up and watch your show,” chuckled Lawrence.

It was then that silence broke out between the pair again.

Lawrence's eyes fell on to his own hand, which had come to rest on the top of Adam's knee, and had been slowly stroking up and down and had apparently been there already for far too long—he didn't even know how or when that particular faux pas occurred.

Adam didn't say anything, but his lack of witty rejoinder made his discomfort clear.

Clearing his throat, Lawrence cautiously returned his hand. He cursed himself internally; you goddamn idiot, what did you do that for? Now he knows. He has to. His skin felt hot, his heart beat mercilessly, it was intensely awkward.

“That was kinda weird, man,” said Adam, a nervous laugh broke from him.

“Yes,” croaked Lawrence.

“Can we just get something to eat?” said Adam, quickly. “I'm like… watching these lions butcher wild animals and it's giving me a raging hunger hard-on I'm not likely to ignore.”

Sighing in relief, the awkwardness instantly dispelled by Adam's amazing ability to just push things out of the realms of importance. If he had registered the older man's touch to something other than friendliness, he hadn't let on. “Will pizza be okay, again?”

Adam nodded enthusiastically, “damn fucking right it is.”

And like the day before, Lawrence ordered them pizza, determined to forget his infuriating infatuation with his only friend in the world and just live happily side by side with him, hoping said infatuation would eventually fade and he would come to his senses before he did something irrefutably stupid that threatened to shatter Adam's precious trust in him.

Adam was grateful, grateful for everything Lawrence was doing for him. For the first time in his life, he felt like he could trust someone other than himself. It was a good, liberating feeling that made him feel human, like he could have someone to actually reach for when he was feeling scared, lost and alone. No girlfriend needed either, though, he thought Lawrence sometimes fussed more than a man should. Still, it was nice. A little weird, like he said, but nice.

It took a little longer for the pizza to arrive; Lawrence also had ordered sodas for them both, as an alternative to beer. It did give him a thought though. Now hat he was capable of it, he wanted to take Adam out. He could easily surprise him with something loud and brash, but he wanted to be alone with Adam, as wrong as he was for wanting that.

“Adam,” Lawrence began, pacing himself. “Tomorrow night, rather than the same old, pizza in front of the TV. Would you be opposed to an evening out? You know, to a restaurant. I know, if it's too highbrow for you, I'd take a drive-in fast food place—I just really need to reestablish my link to the world, Adam, and I'd rather have you with me.”

A little surprised, Adam shrugged, “that's cool. If you want, I guess…”

Lawrence was too cautious to smile, though he wanted to. It was a breakthrough, in his eyes.

Adam didn't want to go out, not really, but hell, if Lawrence was going to be there, what was the worst that could happen? He wasn't a restaurant kind of guy. He didn't think Lawrence ever thought that he was that kind of guy, so he suspected Lawrence wasn't going to force it to be an uncomfortable affair. It would be new to him, and he doubted very much he'd enjoy it, but whatever, he shrugged. Better than nothing, I suppose. Kinda weird though… Lawrence must miss that kind of thing. Ehh, fuck it.

“You don't have to, if you don't want to, Adam,” scowled Lawrence.

“No, man, it's not that,” Adam snapped. “It's just…” He couldn't think of anything to say, that didn't make him sound like… well, a pussy. “Don't think you're gonna get me in to some fucking penguin suit or some shit, because I'm a lowly ex-photographer, we don't make much money. Unlike doctors.”

“Okay, fine,” said Lawrence, defeated. “You win. No suits, no snooty waiters. They don't have those kinds of places around here anyway, so you shouldn't worry. Most people here are too poor to support that type of establishment. I'll show you around for a few hours in the morning, that way you can… what?”

Adam was shaking.

Lawrence's casual conversation altered in to a sharp stab of fear, he grabbed Adam by the face, but as he saw, he had no cause to worry. He let him go, and slunk back, confused. “What's funny?” He asked.

“You,” Adam held his sides, he was laughing hard.

Feigning offence, Lawrence frowned, “and what's so funny about me?”

“You… you can't even walk without a freaking crutch, man,” he scoffed. “You have hella big plans for someone who has trouble standing without ending up ass-over head.”

“Alright,” sighed Lawrence, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You got me there.”

“And, you won't even trust me enough to let me take off your fucking shoes, Lawrence,” Adam rolled his eyes. “Do you really think, in your deluded head that you're gonna be able to spend all night walking around with me? You'll end up killing yourself.”

“No,” said Lawrence angrily. “That won't happen. As it happens, if you'd have let me explain, I only didn't let you do that, because,” he paused, Adam looked for a flash, fearful of him. He continued, calm Lawrence back again. “Because I was scared, alright. I was afraid that you'd… see it.”

Adam shook his head, “Lawrence, what? I'm not getting it. What was I supposed to not see—your expensive fancy-ass socks? What's the big deal? Thought I might do it for you, since you couldn't do it yourself. You know, what friends are for. Believe me, I wouldn't have done anything so retarded if it was anyone but you, man.”

“Adam…”

“No, shut up,” hissed Adam “We've both got problems alright? If you're too much of a bitch to handle seeing your own plastic foot, then fuck you—don't take it out on me. You could have just not cut it off if you weren't prepared to live with it. I mean, look now: you're pretending it never happened! Talking about doing all this shit… I mean, I hate to be the one to tell you this, man, but… you're not the same guy you used to be. You'd be extremely fucking lucky if you can walk at all—don't go parading your fancy new crutch-using ass around town if you won't even look down at what you did. Because people are gonna ask, you know, they're going to ask, why you use that thing. Diana, do you think she'll care whether you only have one foot or not? Do I care? No. I tell you, you got off lightly. You should be happy, like it’s a Medal of Honor! You survived—you're alive! You're not superman anymore. Get over it.”

There was a long break, Adam had moved off the couch during his rant and marched around the room like a man on a mission as Lawrence only sat there, win a patient deliberation as he waited it out. The young man was breathing heavily, having verbalized his frustration to the man who was a small part of the problem.

“Are you done?” Asked Lawrence, looking up at him. “Because I was about to tell you: thank-you. It was nice of you to think of me, and I apologize for being so small-minded. It was thoughtless of me. So,” he reached up and gave Adam a playful, reassuring shove. “If you want to pick on a disabled man some more, feel free. I may not be superman, but I could still beat your scrawny ass.”

Adam laughed, and sat back down next to him, “a Raggedy Andy could beat my ass man, don't feel so special.”

“Noted,” said Lawrence with a small smile.

They say there for a while, quietly finishing pizza and soda.

“I'm proud of you, man,” said Adam, almost too quiet to hear. “You got out of that chair. You kicked that cancer-fuck’s diseased ass… I just wanted to say that. Thanks… you saved my life, too. I don't know if I said that yet, but really. Thanks. Not many wasters like me get a second chance. I'm not going to spend my second chance—that you gave me—being an ungrateful A-hole. So yeah, I'll go out with you tomorrow if it's what you want, but you'd better accept my help when I offer it, because it's my only opportunity to say thanks without… you know, using words, getting all sentimental. All that shit.”

Lawrence swallowed. To hell with boundaries, he leaned over and pulled Adam to him in a crushing hug. He never wanted to let this special, wonderful man go. As much as a challenge he made things, he dared to care against the odds and he loved him, so goddamn much he was afraid of shattering from holding any of it in any longer. He cried as he held Adam, and he was fairly certain Adam was too if the shaking of his shoulders was anything to go on. To make it as painless as possible, Lawrence was the first to pull away from the younger man, who clung to him harder than in the bathroom.

Adam was grateful that Lawrence wasn't making a big scene of it, and although the the breakthrough was reached for both of them, Adam felt no different. Things between them went back to normal after the minor explosion and reconciliation. It was good. Refreshing.

And when Adam, in reenergized good spirits, moved down to take off Lawrence's shoes, with unparalleled gratitude, Lawrence let him.


	14. Not Superman

Adam had his reservations about Lawrence's supposed plan to eat out. The night before, he'd exploded about how Lawrence was overdoing it, wringing himself dry, when he should have been sat in bed somewhere not having to do anything physical. Yet, he'd found a part-time job, got a house and another on the line, all from a wheelchair. He couldn't help but admire a guy with that much drive and ambition, but at the same time, it frustrated him. Why can't he just fucking sit, and not have a fool-proof plan on where to put his ass? Adam knew that what Lawrence was doing was his way of moving on, telling the world that he was not going to let this thing ruin his life, but Adam preferred keeping his eyes open to the real world. He couldn't just distract himself form those dark memories. He ran, sure, but he couldn't live in ignorance to the things that tormented his every waking thought and stalked his every restless dream. Catch me if you can, fuckface.

He woke up the next morning, aching. A quick look around revealed the answer why: he’d slept on the couch again, next to the blonde doctor. One of these days he needed to get a better night’s sleep. He was thankful at least that on this occasion, he didn't dream, and he wasn't terrified and alone in darkness.

“You were right,” a gruff voice came from beside him—Lawrence's voice.

Adam sat up, groaning in his aches and pains, he looked at the older man. He was sat slouched back, facing forward with his blue eyes duller than usual, wide open and staring out at nothing.

“Huh, w-what?” Yawned Adam, trying his best to not look too ridiculous in his early-morning state.

“I'm not superman,” said Lawrence, turning his head and smiling sadly.

It was too early, Adam didn't know what Lawrence expected to say, but Adam certainly had nothing to say; he needed a smoke and a coffee, though he'd pretty much surrendered both in his time burdened at the hospital. He needed something to wake him up, though. Lawrence could be as cryptic as he wanted, until he woke up, Adam wasn't in any state of mind to decipher the enigma.

“I've tried too hard to be normal, and I'm not normal. It's so hard, Adam, to be the man I used to be. I brought you here because I wanted someone who needed me to save them. But you're not nearly as receptive to a kind hand that I expected… you're… a very unique man, and as much as you needed my help then, you no longer do. I'm very proud of you, too. You're stronger than you think. I'm a coward. Somehow you managed to stay there, surrounded by nothing but death and darkness, and you came out of it, relatively unharmed, no thanks to me. And me… I took the cowards way out. I wish I'd stayed with you. I would have died, but I would have died a sane man.”

Adam rubbed his eyes. He couldn't quite understand what Lawrence was saying—maybe Lawrence didn't know himself, though it looked like he'd been thinking hard about something, for a long time. He didn't know what to say to him. He just… couldn't articulate words, meanings, anything. The only fragment he gathered from the clusterfuck of Lawrence's little speech, was that he was trying to apologize, for shooting him.

“Do you know what I mean?” Asked Lawrence, looking at him.

“Uh,” Adam scratched his head, shuffled uncomfortably. “Sure, man.”

“I'm not going to be that man anymore, Adam. I don't want to be Doctor Gordon. I'm a human being, and I sometimes have a hard time looking beyond the pretentious title. I lost my passion, I lost my humanity in that damned bathroom. I became a maniac, I cut off a… a part of my body, like it was nothing. Like I was nothing. I must have scared the hell out of you, and you're right—I was trying to hide it—but I shouldn't have been. I was ashamed, not of what it was, but for what it represented. I was ashamed of myself, for what I became. And this fucking foot, whatever it is, is a constant reminder of how far I could go when pushed. I'm human, Adam, but this thing… on my leg, makes me think twice, every time I look down, every time I move.”

Adam watched, as Lawrence moved his prosthetic on the carpet as he spoke, up and down, left and right, as if he was trying it out. Like a new car. He got what he was saying, and it scared him that Lawrence had this schism running down him. Lawrence was supposed to be the put-together guy—no weirdness there. Now, he had this. The younger man sighed and shook his head.

“I dunno, man,” he said. “It looks kinda cool from here… like… whenever you go nuts, you can cut off a part of you—an arm, another important part—and slowly replace yourself with metal and synthetic fibers over a number of years. Like, Super Lawrence, it'd be sweet, man.”

“I don't see the joke,” said Lawrence unhappily.

“Oh, no joke,” retorted Adam. “At least you'd be more human than that fucking… cancer-head-fucking, murdering asshole and his friends. And you wouldn't feel pain either. Sounds like a good deal, take it.”

“Adam,” Lawrence chuckled. “Ridiculousness aside, you raise a good point. I want to feel. No pain means no love, either, and what would be the point in living when you feel nothing?”

Shrugging, Adam got up from the couch. “I dunno, man, I'm entirely flesh and blood, don't ask me. I'm going for a shower. Need anything, gimme a shout, alright?”

Lawrence nodded, and watched as the young man, who seemed to, with such clumsy ease, put everything in to perspective, jogged up the stairs. He felt like shit, waking up, looking at the beautiful face of the man next to him, and feeling such immense guilt for harming him. Seeing himself as the heartless bastard that left him screaming down there… he waited for him to wake up. He looked away, and stared at the wall. Now, he did the same again, enjoying the warmth on his arm where Adam's fingers briefly brushed him on his way up from the couch. Adam cared, under his jokes and his defensiveness, he really cared. In a matter of minutes, he'd transformed Lawrence's mood entirely. He laughed at the thought, that if he had the know-how to be a doctor, Adam would surpass him in ways unimaginable.

It was early, and Adam had no reason to be up, but the shower was reason enough to stay awake. He wondered, casually, as he soaped up his hair, how Lawrence coped with the hours; as a doctor, he had to thrive, and sleep little, being alert and ready day and night for emergencies. Adam wasn't like that. He used to be up all night, loaded up on caffeine and energy drinks, doing some nighttime work and shit. It was surreal, waking up in the morning like a normal person, and it took some endurance to get through.

After the day before’s little episode, Adam felt good. He'd gotten over the hard parts now, he figured. He could concentrate on not being too scared to live his life. Yes, he felt good, better than he had done since waking up high on meds. He'd begun to wonder if life was even worth the struggle sometimes. It was the little things, though, that seemed to make Adam smile a little more each day. Lawrence's insistent fussing over him was annoying, no doubt, but it was also very comforting, and he had come to accept it. Issues still needed ironing out, but Adam could see himself being lifelong friends with the Doctor, as scary sounding as it was.

Adam played with the idea of masturbating. Days, weeks passed since the last time he'd even had an erection. It wasn't something he'd ordinarily be worried about, but now, he was eager to push this idea of trying to be and to live a normal life again. Why shouldn't he enjoy himself a little? Hell, I fucking earned this, man. Running his hand down between his legs, he smiled to find that he was already responding. His age, not having done this for so long, it was inevitable that he'd break the chains of involuntary celibacy and do something. But, even as he achieved full erection, he just… couldn't continue. His appetite for sexual relations with anyone even himself just seemed, for lack of a better word, shitty. He was horny, sure, but sometimes it took more than general arousal for him to do it, and now, reminding himself that Lawrence—this was his shower. He was downstairs, probably being melancholy again… it killed the mood.

Discarding concerns that he'd just had his hand wrapped around his hard cock, and he was worrying about Lawrence during, he quickly turned off the water and exited the shower with an unsullied conscience. He dried off, and dressed, completely ending any chances of manual stimulation before he changed his mind, and he brushed his teeth.

Sometimes he felt like this place was just a motel, supplied with free toothpaste. He wondered when he'd decide to move on and find his own place. Could he do that? He looked at himself in the mirror. He wasn't big, strong, particularly handsome… how did he manage to get so far in life with a camera and a dream? He laughed and looked away. He hated self-reflection.

Lawrence had urges, but he hadn't had them for a long time. Not for Alison, not for Carla, or any other number of women he'd been with for excitement. He would have been the first to divulge that one of his vices was lust. Dirty, cheating Lawrence. How could I do that to my family? But he kept that side of him in the shadows for much of his life. This time, was different. He loved Adam. He desired Adam. But he didn't want to. He felt wrong for his feelings, but not at all confused. He was old enough and smart enough to know what he felt, but wise enough to know it wasn't what he shouldn't be wanting. He'd cheated on his wife, and he loved her too. It would be a mistake to screw up his life too, more than he already had, he was supposed to be helping, not making things worse. He wasn't blind to the fact that ever since reconnecting, they'd been drifting closer, as friends, and he never wanted that to stop. All he had to do, and it sounded very easy in his head, was to be friends with Adam, and not think about him in that way. It sounded easy. In reality, he couldn't stop thinking about Adam: about his smartass attitude, his soft features, his secret warmth. Hell, even the way his nerves made him jitter around sometimes made him smile.

“Hey Doc LG,” chirped Adam, bounding down the stairs.

Lawrence, broken harshly out of his thoughts averted his mentality to less dangerous avenues. He felt Adam sit next to him but for once he didn't open up the way he may have. He felt a little stupid, actually: stupid for hurting him, stupid for thinking about him, stupid for being a slave to his own emotions.

“What are you thinking about?” Asked Adam, innocently.

You, he thought. “Life,” he said.

“Really?” Laughed Adam. “This again?”

“Yes,” he replied, staring down at his hands, feeling the spot where his wedding ring once was. “Wait…” he looked at him. “What did you just call me?”

“What, Doc LG?” Adam grinned, sheepishly. “Yeah… it's your nickname for today. I'll probably get bored and call you something else tomorrow, so don't get too used to it.”

“You are too cute, sometimes.” Lawrence chuckled and shook his head. Idiot.

Adam laughed, he knew Lawrence was just teasing him. It was banter, it's what they did—Lawrence would call Adam stupid, or moron, and Adam would call him a smug, overachieving jerkoff. It was normal. “Cute? That's a new one.”

Lawrence didn't say anything. He just hid his face in his hands.

“I gotta say, if that's your comeback, you're off your game,” he chuckled.

 

A significant downgrade to Lawrence's physical therapy came when Adam, filling in for a qualified therapist, decided that Lawrence needed a break. He told him to just sit back, put his feet up and not leave the house. It wasn't like him to argue, so he did as told. Adam was impressed with Lawrence's compliance to do as he was told. They sat there next to each other again, staring at the television.

“Alright, Adam,” he said. “I'll do as you said, because I know, all this running around isn't good for me. I only do so, under the assumption that you will make keep up your end of the bargain—were going out tonight.”

“Jesus,” Adam rolled his eyes. “I don't still have to do that do I?”

“Yeah, Adam,” said Lawrence, sternly. “We do. We both need to get out, otherwise I can see you going crazy in here, I really can.”

“Ooh, you're right, Lawrence. I can feel my sanity slipping away already… my foot’s just itching to be cut off. Go ahead and get me a bone saw, quick before I shoot you.”

Grabbing the cuff of his jeans, Adam had lifted his leg up high and made to sway his leg around in front of Lawrence's face, who promptly grabbed him by the ankle and lowered his leg gently down in to his lap.

“You think you're so clever, don't you?” Lawrence chuckled. He smacked the sole of Adam's foot. “Why don't you do us all a favor and cut out your tongue first so no one has to hear any more of your smartass cracks?”

Adam squirmed, and carefully tried tugging back his leg, his eyes were unwaveringly downcast for reasons only known to him, but with his raised eyebrow, Lawrence figured it out. He had Adam in a position he could not escape from. His fingers were locked around his ankle, like a chain, but he couldn't remove them; he was concentrating hard at the poor young man's facial reactions. His eyes flitted upwards towards him, briefly and then back down. He was fidgeting unceasingly. Lawrence kept holding him, kept testing him. He wanted this to help, like he could somehow get Adam over this fear by force. It was too much to hope for, but slowly, he saw Adam's face change from the fearful torment, to a sort of reluctant peace. And that, in turn brought a smile to Lawrence's face. The whole atmosphere relaxed, darkness dispelled, their reaching evil fingers dissolved away in to the light they'd formed with each other. The bond was unbreakable now. The whole event lasted only seconds, but between them in those moments, those vital, life-changing moments, Adam had learned how to trust Lawrence, and Lawrence discovered how to touch Adam.

“No, man, forget it,” sneered Adam, waving his hands in the air. “Without my tongue I'm nothing. Sure, it might not be gold-plated like yours, but I've never had any complaints.”

Lawrence held laughter. He couldn't help it. Sometimes Adam just tickled him in ways his rational brain couldn't handle. It wasn't his type of humor, but it was all Adam. All Lawrence had was Adam. And he began to tickle him.

“Knock it off, man,” Adam groaned, lazily. “Not ticklish—don't try it. I'll kill you when you sleep. That or jerk off on your toothbrush. So seriously, knock it off.”

Lawrence did, but was surprised when Adam not only didn't move away, but he reclined back comfortably, placing both feet in Lawrence's lap, elevated there. He crossed his arms over his chest and just laid there draped across the couch using Lawrence as a footstool. He was glad for this behaviour, it reinforced the new level of trust Adam had with him, and expanded upon their interactions with each other. To further it still, Lawrence pushed the pad of his thumb against the pad of Adam's big toe, and pinched. Fondly he remembered this game, with Diana; a small ritual they played at night after he'd spent a hard day working, and right before he disappeared with some woman. In a ways this little stroll down memory lane evoked sadness in the Doctor. He missed his family. He'd fucked everything up. He still spoke over the phone, but at times when he had been the loneliest man on earth, it took every ounce of strength not to go running back to them.

“What are you doing?” Asked Adam with a sleepy non-protest.

The Doctor chuckled and continued playing his little game.

Adam didn't mind, in fact he'd made himself rather comfortable in that position. He was tired, and he thought: why not? Lawrence seemed extra touchy today, which was weird. He'd not had many friends, and he was starting to like the affection Lawrence seemed to naturally give to him. It was still… pretty gay, but Adam had long-since passed the stage of giving a shit. If Lawrence wanted to ‘get gay’ with his feelings, he was okay with that. He liked Lawrence, and he was a good guy. They were friends. He liked that word. It was a safe word, it was a warm word. Lawrence is safe, Lawrence is warm.

“This little piggy…”

“Lawrence,” Adam snorted loudly. “Fuck. You.”

 

By the time the afternoon rolled around, Lawrence was up and about, despite Adam's whining that he needed to rest up. It was time to get up for him, too. Without realizing it, Adam hung on by Lawrence's heels; concerned for his every step. He took on a role of protector, pressing his hand to the older man's lower back, keeping pace. It was like watching a child learn to ride a bicycle for the first time, watching Lawrence take baby steps. For once Lawrence didn't seem too proud or self-conscious to accept his help. They moved around the small space for some twenty minutes, leaning on each other.

Lawrence was happy, very happy; lounging around the whole morning with Adam there, within reach. It seemed almost too perfect. He was expecting Adam to explode, have another panic attack or show his mean streak, but, he was there, and he hadn't left his side since he rushed out of the shower earlier.

“Do we still have to go out?” Adam asked, shuffling on the spot.

Lawrence saw his adorable awkwardness. He wanted to say: no, it's fine, Adam We can stay in and watch television like usual, and sit close and… but no. He sniffed and shook his head, turning in the kitchen to face the younger man with a sorry smile.

“Yes, Adam we still do,” he sighed. “If for no other reason, I need to buy a few things, and without the chair, I'm going to need your help. As for later tonight, well, we’ll have to see. I can't spend any more nights locked away here. Yes, I'm scared. I'm very scared.”

“I'm not scared,” pouted Adam. “It's not a big deal. And yeah, I don't plan spending my whole life as a shut-in either.”

Lawrence smiled. “We’ll go out. If you want to, but I don't want to force you. I just thought, that it might be nice. Okay.”

Adam smirked, “nice maybe if you aren't a one-footed asshole and his anti-social sidekick.”

Walking their way back over to he other side of the house, Lawrence was all ready to head out. Adam's was not. Really, they'd been out of the house before, but on this occasion—shopping—was something that encroached dangerously close to normal territory. It was not the kind of thing he did in the daylight; only on late night runs for cigarettes. It was how he stayed so thin: smokes and stress. Lawrence needed his help though, and he was getting sick of eating pizza, as shocking as he found that revelation. It was nice to be needed, and with Lawrence unlike some people, Adam didn't get the impression that he was using him. He got the loud and clear impression that Lawrence actually enjoyed keeping him around. As such, he was not about to disappoint him. It's just grocery shopping, grow some balls.

“Is that really what you think?” Lawrence asked as they made their way down the street. “That you'd be my sidekick?” Lawrence chuckled softly. “You mean far more to me than that—don't you know that?”

“If you say so, man,” laughed Adam, nervously, squeezing Lawrence's upper arm.

The streets were thriving, and an easy breeze drifted across in carefree gusts. Adam clung carefully to the older man's elbow while Lawrence himself hobbled on his crutch on a staggered pace. It was for the most part peaceful. No cars in the center of town meant people were able to walk around quite happily. The trees even brimmed with orange and brown leaves, while other leaves scattered on the sidewalks, crunching pleasantly underfoot. It was a nice morning, a little chilly, but nice.

Adam had yet to see much of the town, and he was pretty surprised by the number of people doing their morning business. It looked small on the outside, but once there in the middle, he felt like an ant among hundreds—out of place, alien. Lawrence was there with him though, so he wasn't that apprehensive about blending in to society. They all had their problems, these people. Schedules were tight for those with multiple jobs, and queue-jumpers still abused the system. It was like a miniature city. Adam could get to liking it.

He walked, nearly arm-in-arm with the blonde doctor, yet they drew very little attention. He was afraid that he'd look like an asshole to these people, because to be fair, he was an asshole. But right now he just wanted to be a helpful human being for once in his life and be a support for a friend who needed him. He was actually pretty disappointed that they didn’t stare, or make shit for him; he needed someone to acknowledge that this, whatever it was, wasn't normal. He needed to be grounded, to get his head back in reality and in to a world where he knew how to exist.

“Where's the first stop?” Asked Adam, glancing around.

“Over, over there,” Lawrence pointed.

Adam wanted to get indoors. There were too many hazards, too many unknowns to lash at his ankles and poison him with their barbs. He kept looking over his shoulder; men in coats, men in hats, he trusted no one but number one and his crippled buddy. He felt cold sweat prick his skin, and he hurried Lawrence along in to the building with such urgency that the good doctor almost tripped with the speed they were going.

“Adam, Adam,” panted Lawrence. “What the hell is the problem?”

Adam shook his head, “nothing, man. Just wanted to see how fast you could go.”

“Wonderful,” he rolled his eyes. “I'm trusting myself to a speed demon.”

“Yeah,” said Adam, red-faced. “Sorry.”

Lawrence didn't care; as long as he didn't end up falling face-first in to the women's department, he was fine. He understood Adam was paranoid, and he disliked such an open environment. It was why he wanted him to go out. To fix this problem. He had high hopes following the morning’s easygoing bonding that Adam would want to get better, but he did t want to do it alone, and he didn't want to admit that. So, he made plans to head out with him, sure that the more time he spent around the small local community, the more he would integrate and feel less isolated from everything and everyone.

“What are you looking for?” Asked Adam, carefully moving Lawrence around the store.

Lawrence pointed towards the men's department, weakly.

“Oh,” he said. “Clothes. Goody.”

“Don't be a child, Adam,” Lawrence scolded.

Adam wasn't liking where this was going. Obviously he had no money, which meant Lawrence was doing the buying. He didn’t want Lawrence's money, and he didn't think clothes should be on his list of priorities. But, his sense outvoted his irritation. Lawrence already called him a child, and he felt like screaming, making a scene, but that would draw too much attention. Low-key was key. How much of a child would he look like then? He was tempted to, out of spite, make a scene, raise hell, but he didn't. Responsible Adam was switched on, as Lawrence needed him to be. But, he wasn't going to be all-smiles. Hell, no.

Moving slowly around to avoid knocking over racks of clothing, Lawrence was creating a small storm within himself. He knew there was no easy way to go about this. He felt like he could walk, as well as he used to, with grace and confidence, but he couldn't. It wasn't physically possible, and that infuriated him. People moved around him as he approached as though he was an obstacle, a thing. It didn't make him feel good. He was starting to feel like Adam, wanting to be away from all… this. The throngs of people both pushed and avoided him, and he felt like just turning around and marching out. I'm that much of a problem? Fine. But no, he couldn't do that. He was doing this not only for Adam, but for himself. He needed to get out, stretch his legs, because one day, this reliance on Adam had to go. Adam needed to do what he wanted to do and not be a spare arm, foot, whatever for the rest of his life just because Lawrence liked being around him. It would be selfish. He knew Adam was an independent person, and maybe he would choose to move out one day, live alone like he used to. He hoped he wouldn't. He hoped Adam would stay with him, but again, he'd never impede him from living the life he wanted to lead. It's what they fought for.

“I thought when you said shopping, you meant food,” said Adam.

“Oh, I know,” laughed Lawrence. “You have food on the brain.”

“Yeah, well can you blame me? You try spending days locked up with nothing but a corpse to eat and not being hungry.”

Lawrence stopped, he looked around. Thankfully no one was listening. He turned to him, a mixture of disbelief and complete disgust on his face. “Adam, tell me you didn’t…”

Adam scoffed, “what, you-you mean you didn't know? Didn't get autopsy reports? They found teeth marks in that asshole Zep’s neck,” Adam gnashed his teeth close to Lawrence's neck, pretending to bite him there. “Survival instincts, man,” he whispered.

Lawrence closed his eyes, Adam's breath on his skin, trying not to whimper out loud. How does he not understand what this is doing to me? He knew Adam wasn't serious. He didn't really take a chunk out of a dead guy. But, for a moment...

“They make people do crazy things. Animals do it every day,” he said, as if it was normal to talk about—stating a fact. “It’s only us that don't practice cannibalism. Why? I hear it tastes like chicken.”

What happened next would haunt Lawrence's daydreams for the rest of his life: Adam licked his fucking neck. Not a little snake-tongue flick, but a full, broad, long and slow lick from collarbone to ear in one motion.

“Ugh,” gasped Lawrence. “That's disgusting…”

Adam chuckled—he was laughing, grinning broadly and face a little flushed. He didn't usually do anything quite so personally vulgar, but he couldn't resist messing with Lawrence a bit, getting his revenge for having to shop for fucking clothes.

Of course, Lawrence recoiled, and wiped his neck with his hand, almost toppling over in the process. His disgust, however, was purely superficial—he'd be licking his palm with feverish obsession the moment Adam turned his back. He felt a bit like a cannibal himself as he did so, but he didn't care, no one could see, only his conscience to battle with later. Adam's taste was worth it. He tasted good, so good. Perfect… Adam.

“Hey, man, are you gonna limp your lazy ass over here, or what?”

Lawrence's eyes snapped up, still tasting Adam on his tongue, holding it there, he nodded, face completely rigid but red. He shuffled over to the younger man with all intent in the world of acting normal. Acting.

Adam was very pleased with himself. Making Lawrence that uncomfortable. He had it coming. He may have made himself look like a cocksucker but it was worth it to see the look of shock and horror on his face. On this occasion, it was worth it. And he thought it was pretty funny… getting better all the time. He was very proud. Cool, he thought. Now we're even. Let's buy some stupid clothes before I change my mind.

“W-what?” Lawrence stuttered, standing so close to the younger man he could smell him.

“Hey, are you alright, man?” Adam asked, looking at him, patting him on the arm. “Paler than ever. Don't think I'm gonna eat you do you? I was just joking, ease up,” he chuckled nervously and moved away to sit down.

Lawrence sighed and sat down on a stool by the shoe department and changing area while Adam was sat opposite, trying some on.

“I know, Adam,” he said with tiredness. “I'm not stupid. I just don't think… you should be… threatening to commit cannibalism in the middle of the department store, that's all.”

“Who said I was threatening?” Smirked Adam in a glance while he wriggled his feet in to another pair of shoes.

“Adam…”

“Oh, so you're gonna tell me how to fucking behave, now?” Said Adam, quietly confrontational. “Do I embarrass you in public, huh? Is crazy Adam making the rich, fancy, smart, handsome doctor look bad?” He snorted. “Get real, man.”

Lawrence smiled, and laid a hand on Adam's knee. “You don't embarrass me.”

Adam quirked a brow and looked down at the hand for a moment. Again with the touching? If he didn't know better…

“Anyway, is that all you're needing?” Said Lawrence, removing his hand and changing the subject. “How about some dress shoes? A suit jacked might look nice—”

“—Whoa, no,” said Adam, loudly. “You aren't getting me in a suit. I told you: I'm not fancy, like you… no pretentious-ass restaurants. I'm not fancy, Lawrence! I'm scum, alright? I dress nice sometimes, but if you think you can get me in to some… jerkoff bow tie, you might as well push me in front of a car right now. It'd save me the time and effort.”

Lawrence smiled. “You seem quite sure of that, so I won't pursue it. I just thought, you might need them, one day. That's all. No restaurant, no ulterior motive—I swear.”

Adam was silent for a moment, before he just stood up and looked down at him.

Lawrence blinked, “what?”

“Alright—go ahead,” he said, clenching his jaw tight. “Get me a fucking fancy suit—we'll go to a restaurant. Call it what you want—dinner out, a business lunch, a fucking date if you want. Then what? I'll sit there all night, uncomfortable as shit, itching in some polyester blend, shit, I don't know. Looking like an idiot in front of people just like you. I'll not behave. I'll be myself, and you'll wish you never brought us in to this stupid store. I'm not going to change and be polite, well mannered, well spoken. I'm an asshole, Lawrence, and proud of it! If you can live with ruining your reputation… hah, well, it's your funeral.”

The other man said nothing, he only sat there, head hung, staring at the floor.

Adam sighed. He glanced around. Everyone in the store. Staring. He'd made an even bigger ass out of himself and Lawrence than he had been afraid of. He felt the eyes on him, all of them mocking, derivative, he didn't care. “What? Show’s over, folks,” said Adam. “Yes, that's right, asshole—I'm shouting! Move on, jesus christ.”

So much for not making a scene, Adam.

After the little explosion, Adam looked down at Lawrence, who was still sitting there in front of him. His were the only eyes not on him, and he felt himself starting to hyperventilate.

“You see?” He began to pace, hand to palm. “I'm trouble, man… this is what'll happen… I'll make big fucking scene like always and…”

Lawrence wasn't looking up.

“Well?” He asked, afraid. “Do you hate me? Don’t you have anything to say?”

He was terrified, he just knew Lawrence hated him. How could he not?

Suddenly, Lawrence looked up.

He wasn't angry, he wasn’t and at all. Adam was relieved, but curious.

“A date?” Asked Lawrence, smiling.


	15. Sacrifice

It wasn't a date.

That's what Lawrence had to remind himself, constantly. It was hard. He was excited. After leaving the store, he was in high spirits. By some small miracle, Adam had broken down, and allowed Lawrence to buy him clothes. A suit. Not a power suit, but something nice and simple: black, no tie, nothing too extravagant. Adam seemed to even approve in the end. He thought that he hated suit and tie wearers, and that Lawrence was trying to turn him in to one of them. But as they shopped around, that didn't seem to be the case at all. Adam was reluctant, because he thought he should have to change himself to fit the suit. He didn't. He convinced Adam, gently, that he just happened to think he would look good. He seemed to accept that, but he did indeed seem to be intimidated by the feel of it.

“It's just material, Adam,” Lawrence said with a chuckle once they got back home.

After clothes the pair had obtained groceries; just a few things, with clothes they were running out of hands to carry things with. Adam was happy to purvey those wares, at least, and after the incident at the men's department, spirits had lifted. Back at the house, however, Adam was noticeably antsy.

“It's not material, man,” he said. “It's like… skin. I don't let anyone make me in to something I'm not.”

“I know that,” Lawrence assured. “It's okay. No smart suit could change smart mouth of yours.”

“Hah,” laughed Adam. “You know it.”

Lawrence had hung Adam's new suit above the wardrobe upstairs, and he hoped he would give it a chance—not because he was trying to make him uncomfortable, not because he was aroused at the thought of him in a suit (although, he was)—but because change was good, it meant Adam could feel what it was like when he ventures beyond the realms of comfort, and he would improve because he faced those discomforts. Lawrence himself had to face things, about himself: he didn't sit back and hide away, he went out, on a boat every day in a wheelchair, he left clues for Adam to find him. He faced things, as a doctor. Adam preferred to just refuse things he didn't understand, deny them. He wondered if he would refuse him if he just confessed, confessed his growing feelings. I doubt it, he thought, bitterly. He still acted as though he owed Lawrence something, and was intent on paying him back by being there—he did look very uncomfortable accepting the clothes Lawrence had bought. But could he love him? Lawrence doubted it, and so, he kept his damn mouth shut, to protect them both.

“You don't have to wear it, you know,” said Lawrence, smirking, sitting there on the edge of the bed watching him.

“Reverse psychology,” hummed Adam. “Nice try, Doc LG. But I'll make up my own mind, thanks. I'll wear this thing if I want to, no one will persuade me.”

“I get it,” said Lawrence, smiling.

“Yeah, you'd better,” Adam mumbled.

He was looking at the suit. It wasn't him, sure, but he kinda did want to wear it. He was curious. Lawrence had convinced him to give it a shot, said he would look handsome. Hah Like he cared? He was starting to get the feeling that Lawrence was really getting… gay. He didn't know how else to put it: he touched him a lot, he reassured and comforted. Now he was complimenting his imaginary appearance in a suit? He'd have been flattered, but he wasn't sure. He was married wasn't he? What the hell reason did he have to start taking interest in men? Intimacy problems, it's a sign something's not right. Whatever. He didn't think too much on it. In fact, he found it funny, charming in a way. Lawrence was a good looking guy, but that's all he felt on that topic. He enjoyed being close to him, feeling the friendship and warmth he had to offer. Hm, maybe I'm leading the guy on? Whatever, whatever.

“Okay,” Adam sighed. “I'll put the suit on, well go out. Just don't try getting to second base.”

“Alright,” chuckled Lawrence, moving to stand. “I'll leave you alone to get ready.”

Leave, go, gone, never to return. Darkness closing in…

“No!” Adam suddenly shouted, he'd turned to him. “No, no… you… you can't, you can't leave me! Lawrence…”

Full of concern, Lawrence had approached Adam and taken him by the arms. He seemed so helpless, weakened. The young man's brief panic appeared to be over, but there was residual fear behind his eyes that worried Lawrence. Adam didn't seem to notice, him, his eyes darted, his lips quivered. There was something happening there in his head. Lawrence couldn't take it—he leaned in and kissed him, quickly, and pulled back to look at him. Adam's eyes were still glazed over, but he seemed to be coming back to his senses. He didn't even seem to notice what had just happened.

“What's wrong?” Lawrence choked, tears pricked his eyes.

“No, no, man,” he breathed. “I-I I'm alright now…”

Adam pushed back, away from Lawrence and sort of floundered, confused of himself and his surroundings for a moment. He staggered, like a drunk until he needed to sit, and on the bed, he fell on his back, totally obliterated of energy.

“No,” cried Lawrence, sitting by him on the bed, taking his face in both hands and making the young man open his eyes for him. “You're not alright. What did you see, Adam? What did you see? Please, tell me.”

“Nothing,” Adam said, rather lazily. He looked up at Lawrence. “Just the same shit I always see: you, cutting yourself, crawling away… no big deal. I'm over it. Kinda used to it now, actually.”

“Adam, I'm so sorry,” Lawrence said, sincerely. “It's all my fault.”

Adam laughed, “jeez, ego, much? Nah. It's not your fault, it's his. Okay?”

Lawrence nodded. He still felt guilty; Adam had seen some shit in his life, no doubt. But was anything as traumatic as watching Lawrence dismember himself? He didn't have to do that. It was hard, but yes, he faced his problems. Adam was free to do the same and crawl out with him, but he didn't. He had to face the memories of what happened.

Adam was sick of these memories, assaulting him just when things were normal. He'd broken out in a cold sweat, and he could see it, clear as he was looking up at Lawrence, the inner workings of the bathroom trap and the wicked games. The weird thing was, that he didn't mind that much anymore. It was a part of him. Like he said, same shit. It was horrible beyond belief sometimes, but it was something he was starting to live with—he had no other choice in the end. At that realization, Adam smirked.

Lawrence's brows furrowed.

“I don't get you sometimes,” he said, with a firm infuriation as he got up to leave.

The younger man sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “It was just a joke,” groaned Adam. “Didn't mean to scare you.”

“Didn't mean to—” Lawrence exhaled and sat down. He was relieved, but still his heart beat with a terrified wildness. “Adam, these kinds of jokes… they'd better stop. I… I really don't know how much my heart can take.”

It wasn't a joke, but it got Lawrence off his back for a while. It stopped him worrying about his sanity. Now he just thought he was the kind of sick shit who made light of terrible things, and well, maybe he was, but it was easier to deal with than Lawrence taking it too far. He was okay. He just had another flashback—that was all. But he had no doubt Lawrence would call off the evening, make him go to bed like an unwell child, and he didn't need all that fuss. It was kinder to him, even if it marred his impression of him slightly. He'd get over it.

“Nearly give you a heart attack, old man?” Winked Adam.

“Jesus,” said Lawrence. “Will you, just… stop. It wasn't funny; none of this is funny…”

Adam nudged him repeatedly in to back with his foot at an uneven rhythm. “Come on… lighten up, man. If you can't, one of us is gonna have to get a personality transplant, because this isn't gonna work out. And… it is, kinda funny.”

Lawrence turned and glared, gave Adam the most spiteful look he'd ever give him. It didn't last though, seeing the impish expression on the man's face, he couldn't help but smile. He had that effect on him. He wanted to be mad, he wanted to throttle him, for scaring him so bad, but one look at that face, he just couldn't hold it. Cute. Yes, he knew Adam was lying; he really did suffer something when Lawrence informed him he would leave, but no he wouldn't push the issue when Adam was so obviously avoiding it. Besides, if he hadn't been lying, he would have grilled him about that kiss, which Adam apparently had not brought up.

“Admit it,” teased Adam. “I scared you and you almost shit your pants.”

“No,” sneered Lawrence. “I will not admit to that, you little…”

Adam laughed, “wow, look at you, pretending to be mad at me. Your smile is sort of giving it away, old man. You might wanna watch that little tell for the next time you try to give bad news insincerely. Might end up with some pretty confused patients.”

That was the final straw: he could mock him for being older than he was, for being a cheater, for being a bad husband. But he could not mock him for being a bad doctor. That was off-limits. The only way he might have topped it, was to mock his parenting ability. Thankfully, Adam didn't go there, but still, he had to make Adam suffer for that one.

Before Adam knew what was going on, Lawrence had dove on top of him—right on top of him. He was much heavier than he was and it was a struggle to get out from under him. He was grappling the best he could, using his arms and his legs, but Lawrence had a firm grip around his waist and before he could put up resistance, Adam found himself on his stomach, hands locked behind his back with Lawrence sitting on his back.

“Alright, you old bastard,” laughed Adam. “You win, you're bigger than me.”

“Oh, no,” growled Lawrence in mock menace. “You're not getting out of it that easily. You're such a little monster… Adam, you need to apologize, properly, otherwise you can just stay there. How's that?”

Adam scoffed, “yeah, yeah, sorry and all that shit.”

“Is that the best you can do?” Chuckled Lawrence.

“Why? You enjoying this, you sick fuck?” Asked Adam with a little buck of his hips.

Lawrence was laughing, he dug his knuckles playfully in to Adam's ribs and carefully moved off of the younger man to reach for his supports so he could get off the bed. He needed to stop himself before he made himself as a homosexual gentleman. Really, he didn't know how long he could hang on in that position without giving himself away.

“Are you going now?” Asked Adam, rolling over and sitting up.

Lawrence nodded, “Must leave you in peace so you can get all nice-looking.”

“Pfft, fuck you,” Adam grinned.

He watched Lawrence leave, and his grin faded. He really didn't want him to leave. Every time he did, he felt like that scared, angry kid in the bathroom alone to face it all over again. It was a hard thing to get over. Adam understood that he likely would never get over it. Flashbacks, bad dreams… they would continue to haunt, like a dust in his brain.

Standing up, he looked at the suit again. It didn't look so bad, and he might have even wore it if his stubbornness refused the notion. Lawrence might have liked to see him wear it though. It was amusing as a thought, if he went out wearing nothing, the reaction of the tidy doctor might have been worth it. But, no more crude jokes, he reminded himself as he spurred himself on to dress like a rich guy. Sure, it wasn't anything flashy or expensive: just a jacket and dress pants, but it made a very different image that Adam didn't ordinary project. He wore shirts and ties, often, but on this occasion, he decided to ditch the tie. He put on a white buttoned shirt and left the first two buttons open, with the jacket and pants. He felt like he was getting ready for a job interview—a feeling he didn't like.

When he had dressed in entirety, the image reflected in the mirror… wow. Underneath the messy hair was a man who didn't look half bad. He hadn't had a shave for a while, but he scarcely grew any facial hair anyway. He looked like a twelve year old in a suit. It just didn't click. But, whatever, he didn't have to look at himself looking like a moron, so it worked out. He even combed his hair, assuming Lawrence would like that.

Letting out a sigh, he swung his arms back and forth several times while he worked up the courage to leave the bedroom.

Lawrence was waiting. By some effort Lawrence had shaved in the sink, and when when he saw the Adam's reflection—he looks so good—in the mirror, the razor slipped.

“Lawrence!” Shouted Adam. “Oh, shit!”

He'd made his way over to Lawrence before Lawrence even knew there was a problem. “It's alright,” Lawrence assured, showing him that the small cut on his jaw was tiny, only bleeding slightly. “See? Just a little accident.”

Adam breathed a sigh of relief; he had been holding Lawrence's head in his hands, and had let go as he saw the minuscule skin cut. For a moment he was terrified, that Lawrence had hurt himself. He couldn't turn off this irrational worry in his brain. But he did worry—after all he'd seen, how could he not? Regaining his external casual demeanour and discarding panic, Adam swiped his thumb over the small scrape on Lawrence's jaw, and walked away.

“You should pay more attention,” was all he said.

Lawrence was left dumbfounded, and slightly aroused by Adam's closeness, his worry and his touch. The way his eyes just… changed, from focused fear, to relief, and finally a settled bemusement; it just got to Lawrence. He had to check himself and the protrusion at the front of his pants before he finished up. It was his turn to go upstairs.

“Won't be long,” he said to Adam, keeping his back to him.

“Whatever,” said Adam. “Need help not falling on your ass, give me a shout.”

The bedroom was left just how Adam left it: bed creased, clothes in a small pile. Lawrence was growing quickly adept at using his crutches, so he no longer needed help getting up or down stairs. It wasn't a pride thing, either, he would have loved to have Adam on his arm corralling him around, but as he'd assumed he role of a pseudo physical therapist, Lawrence wanted to show Adam that he could go it alone. He wanted him to be proud of him.

Picking out a charcoal gray suit, Lawrence donned a purple shirt and a black tie. It took him a while to change while sat down at the edge of the bed, but even without crutches to lean on, he had done a good job. His clothes remained neatly pressed in vacuum-packed bags, no need for ironing, thankfully. He'd sat there struggling in to a pair of dress pants and shoes for the most part, glad that his newly well-dressed friend wasn't there to berate his calamitous efforts. He'd dropped his worn clothes by Adam's, and the sight of them there, gave the man a strange feeling of warmth in his gut; their clothes, melding together on the bedroom floor… it excited him. He picked up a creased white t-shirt, and smiled.

“Adam,” he mumbled.

Bringing the material to his face, Lawrence inhaled the boy's scent, slowly. He smells better than sex, he thought fantastically. He couldn't take this anymore. Adam had him caught by every sense he had. He wanted him in every way possible. It was heaven and agony, living with Adam; wanting so badly to hold him, whisper, kiss him and not achieving. Sacrifice. He was sacrificing his own desires for better judgement; Adam was sacrificing his better judgement in agreeing to go out with Lawrence. They both sacrificed for each other. All Lawrence had were these small, clandestine moments where he could be selfish, and indulge in little pleasures, and still be able to call himself a martyr. And so he smelled, and tasted, and touched, in small doses—his medicine to better judgement.

Fully suited, Lawrence rejoined Adam downstairs.

Lawrence privately fawned at the sight: Adam looking at himself in the reflection of the mirror in the kitchen, messing with his collar, straightening his shirt. He was trying to look good. For him.

“Hey, man,” said Adam, spying the older man in the mirror, just like he had him. He turned around, trying to look casual. “Took your sweet-ass time. What did you do, pass out from trying to fit in to your suit pants?”

“Not this time,” said Lawrence, hobbling his way to sit down on the couch.

“So, er,” Adam began, staining by the back of the couch. “Are we headed out soon? ‘Cause I've got a mean date with a plate of spaghetti, and I'd rather not keep her waiting, if you know what I'm talking about.”

Lawrence looked back at him, brows furrowed. “I thought you were against going out.”

“Oh, I am,” laughed Adam. “Just shows you how hungry I must be.”

 

There was no need for reservations—it was a small town and all they had to do was walk in and ask for a table. The doe-eyed hostess showed the two well-dressed men in black and gray to a small round table with a sweet smile and a nod. The place was very quiet, only a small number of tables were in use, much to Adam's relief. The restaurant’s walls were dark red, and every table and in the booths sat a single white candle at the center of a croquet tablecloth. It was dark, and mostly candlelit, but Adam opted to not light the candle. On this occasion, he preferred darkness, and a candle was just a little too romantic for this particular pair to use in innocence.

“Not a bad place,” said Adam.

They had ordered already, and Adam was chewing on bread, eagerly anticipating something more substantial. He tried to mask his nervousness by inane smalltalk and local commentary. But he was doing it sarcastically; he wanted Lawrence to be the one talking , but he was quiet. It seemed there was something on his mind, and he wasn't sharing.

“You know,” Adam said. “When you asked me to come here, I didn't think the most lively thing about this place would be my stomach growling.”

Lawrence smiled. “I'm sorry, Adam. I was just thinking: this place brings back memories.”

“What, you used to come here with Alison?”

He nodded, “once, back then. It was raining… we were running, wet, but we didn't care—we were laughing and just… looking for somewhere to get away for a while. She was wearing these… earrings, I bought her the night before as a surprise. It was nice, to just sit inside and listen to the rain on the windows for a while.”

Adam took a sip of wine. He noticed a melancholy in the other man's story that was hard to overlook. “You really did love her. Didn't you?”

Lawrence stared at his hands for a moment; the place on his finger, where that ring had sat for more than a decade. “I loved her. Adam, she was bright, and hopeful. And I took that away from her. I made her miserable with my own self hatred. I don't know when or how I stopped loving her… after Diana, I suppose. I was too damned cowardly to admit it, because I had a reputation to uphold. I needed someone there at home, to come home to and makebelieve that everything was alright. And it wasn't.”  
“Pfft, that's fucked up, man,” said Adam.

“Yes,” said Lawrence, swirling his modest glass of wine. “At times I wonder if she hadn't left me, I'd still be with her now. It seems unbelievable to think now, that after all that unhappiness, fake smiles and denial, that there was still happiness out there for both of us. The only thing that concerns me is Diana, now. I can still be a father, once all of this is over. After all, being a distant father is preferable to being no father at all.”

“Yeah, well I wouldn't know, so…” Adam took another sip. “Do you think she really knows what's going on—Diana?”

“I think so,” said Lawrence, looking down. “I hope so. She knows we're separated, divorce pending. Alison told me that. She was…very angry when she told her, so I don't know of how much of what she told her was truth in her mind.”

“You think she spun Diana a bunch of hate-lies about her cheating, asshole father?” Smirked Adam, teasingly.

“I suppose not,” admitted Lawrence. “But I'm not exactly innocent of those accusations, Adam, and Alison wouldn't lie, so…”

“Food’s here,” said Adam nodding towards Lawrence's shoulder where a waiter came bringing their orders.

Lawrence didn't need to look, he straightened himself up, and tried to forget the unpleasant conversation as he fitted himself with a napkin.

The dishes were served with smiles and precision and were met with mixed outpourings of gratitude and impatience from the two waiting men, of whom the youngest exhibited the most eagerness; grabbing his knife and fork and getting right down to business. The older man was more restrained, having another small sip of his glass of wine, of which was his only one. Adam was drinking tonight, while Lawrence situated himself as a man who didn't need to drink to have a good time. His crutches were carefully segregated away from the table to avoid creating a trip hazard, and his jacket was hung over the back of the chair. He shouldn't have been drinking at all, really, but he didn't want Adam to feel left out. They began to eat quite happily in silence, with manners being exhibited appropriately.

“Tell me, Adam, and forgive me for my ignorance of your situation,” began Lawrence, mopping his mouth. “But when you left your apartment to come here, did you not feel like you were losing a lot more than material possessions? You told me of no family or true loved ones to stay for, so you must have compensated that void with something, right?”

Adam scoffed, “no way. I was glad. You tell me, that you'd be happy, loading up on gold and jewels over getting Diana back? Like you'd just accept that? There's no substitute for human feeling… things are nice but honestly, I'd rather be here with you right now than rolling in fucking loneliness. Sorry: damn loneliness.”

Lawrence blinked. “That's funny, I've never heard you talk like that before. I got the impression that you preferred being alone.”

“Really?” Adam scoffed. “Let me tell you: no one wants to be alone. Everyone out there is looking for someone, even if they never find them. You must know that better than anyone—wife, kid, girlfriends mistresses, me—you must be one lonely son of a bitch inside… bet you never really were happy were you? Always running out, burying yourself in your work…. playing hero—everyone loves a hero—playing husband, playing friend. But you never really found it did you? I mean, sorry, man, but looking at you from far away… you never really found what you were looking for in all of that love on display, had you? I guess at some point you just stopped looking, and filled that loneliness with all kinds of shit to make you feel happy. But it never did.”

Lawrence was stunned silent, his mouth agape; he wanted to protest Adam's broad assumptions of him, but he was right. Astoundingly, bewilderingly right. He wanted to disagree and say that he was happy in his marriage, but was he? At some point he was, but later on it became a safe place for Lawrence, nothing more. A shield to get behind when the hard times flew. He was completely taken aback at the fact that Adam was the one able to see it and see it so successfully. “How can you possibly know that?”

“I mean, you assume I was happy being alone because I lived alone right? Well, I wasn't,” argued Adam. “I’m supposed to think that you were happy because you had it all? No, man. I don't think anyone's really ever totally happy. There's always something going on that you don't let people see, but you know it exists. Misery is part of the human condition. So is hunger, and man, this is good…”

“Adam,” began Lawrence. “Do you really think I was that miserable?”

Adam shrugged, mouth full. “Dunno. Were you?”

Lawrence had to think about that one. “I think I was… Adam, I think I was. Diana was the only reason, the only thing tying me to Alison. If not for her… I don't know, I wouldn't have left her either way but, I guess I found a way around that obstacle.”

“I guess,” whistled Adam.

“Are you always this perceptive, or do you just have the gift of sight?” Asked Lawrence with an admiring smile to the younger man.

“Sheesh, I don't know,” said Adam. “I'm a photographer, Lawrence. I kinda have to have sharp perceptive instincts.”

Lawrence laughed. “Right. Is this along with your latent cannibalistic instincts?”

Adam shrugged, “keep feeding me like this, and we won't have a problem. Probably.”

“So you still see yourself as a photographer, then?”

“Yeah, I mean, yes and no,” he relented. “Non-practicing. Freelancing sucks. Too many dick heads—if you don't ask for half upfront, you get nothing pretty much. Learnt that lesson early on.”

“Hm,” said Lawrence. “Ever thought about practicing again?”

“Around here?” Choked Adam in disbelief. “The only thing to take pictures of are stinky fish factories and misty streets.”

“Wouldn't be bad,” shrugged Lawrence. “A bit of diligence, you could create a portfolio, and make a name for yourself as a local artist. A few black and white shots hung around the hospital. They were miserable as holy hell, but people remember them.”

Adam shrugged. “I dunno, man. I'd like to, but I'm sort of over the whole scenery thing… did school photos once or twice, some birthdays…”

“What was that like?” Asked Lawrence, breaking bread, interested.

“Alright if you can get the work. It's all businesses that get those gigs now though. Specialist firms will get hired and send out their guys, and they get a cut. Pay was good if you like giving half of it to superiors.”

“I see,” nodded Lawrence. “There a small photography studio in town. I'm sure they do things like that. Build a portfolio, I'm sure if you applied, you'd get the job—there aren't too many photographers around here to compete with. Plus, you could still freelance between work, couldn't you?”

Adam was quiet for a while. They ate for a little longer in peace, in which Adam quickly finished most of his meal while his brain worked deep in thought. Lawrence's glance up from his own, became more lingering towards the younger man. His affection was developing and consuming, but he was thankful for now that Adam couldn't see that.

“I could do that,” said Adam, quietly.

Lawrence's eyes met Adam's in a brief moment.

“But…” he looked down. “What about you? I mean, I'm not going to be doing any of that until you're up and well again. Let's be realistic here, you can't live alone like this. I'd be happy to go for an interview, but I couldn't, in good faith, leave you while I go off and take jobs, even locally. No, I'll be much more comfortable knowing you were… you know…”

“Back on my feet?” Finished Lawrence. “But Adam, I can. I'm able to walk—not well, but I'd hate thinking that I'm holding you back—”

“No—Lawrence,” said Adam, putting down his knife and fork. “You're not. You're not holding me back, don't even think… the truth is, I'm not ready for all that yet, so soon.”

Lawrence nodded, and reached across the table, touching his shoulder. “You're right. I'm sorry, it was insensitive—of course, you still need time. Of course, we've got all the time in the world. There's no rush for you to just jump back in to work. I just wanted to know, for what you're planning, for your future.”

“Man, can we just drop this… we’ll talk about all that later.”

“Yes, of course,” said Lawrence.

Adam's hand found Lawrence's shoulder, comforting, letting him know he appreciated the concern for him, but he didn't want to look too deeply in to it at the moment. They continued to eat. Adam ate voraciously and Lawrence less so. Adam had three glasses of wine an hour in, and he was considerably more talkative.

“Most people think I'm gay,” Adam blurted.

“Really?” Said Lawrence, an amused smirk. “Why is that?”

“I don't know…” he chuckled, nervously, hiding in a glass. “A lot of photographers are gay, apparently. Who knew? I mean, I've done some stuff…” his laugh went suddenly high and off kilter. “Who hasn't, right? Well, maybe you haven't, but whatever. I think, I think because I'm a bit… not that masculine, and the photography thing… people just…”

“Assume?” Finished Lawrence.

Adam nodded, and then he shook his head rapidly. “I'm not.”

Lawrence raised his brow, heart beating. “You're not what?”

“I'm not,” Adam said, sitting back, stretching his hands behind his head. “I'm not like that.”

“You're not gay?” Asked Lawrence, goading him.

“Yeah,” he said, slowly shaking his head, almost directed at Lawrence himself. “I'm… I'm not.”

It was extremely cute, to Lawrence; his defensive little stand. He must know, he told himself with a heavy heart. He knows, and he doesn't approve. It was incredibly disheartening, but the older man still smiled, on the chance that Adam was simply drunk and not quite sure of what he was saying or why. He hoped Adam was just venting, to those who made that particular assumption about his sexuality. He hoped.

“I never said you were,” assured Lawrence. “Now, if you're ready, we can go, before you're too drunk to stand,” he winked.

“Me?” Adam looked around. “Drunk? Come on, man. I've only had two… three.”

“So what? You're a lightweight, it's not important,” teased Lawrence.

“Whatever,” scowled Adam. “At least I'm allowed to get drunk, and at least I have two legs to stand on…”

“Ooh,” chuckled Lawrence as he examined the cheque. “That hurts, Adam. How much should we tip?”

Adam rolled his eyes and waved his arms out a little. “Whatever.”


	16. Conflict

Lawrence did his best to remain in good spirits. After they left the restaurant, practically arm in arm, the older man was downtrodden; Adam had quite adamantly proclaimed his heterosexuality, repeatedly to him, which made him get the feeling that he was trying to tell him that this particular Adam was off-limits. Not that he'd dropped any particularly big hints that he was chasing him like a hopeless fan, but he figured it was safer not to pursue any major attempts he may or may not have had planned. For now Lawrence was just happy being with him, he didn't want to complicate things.

Adam's steps were staggered and unsteady, but he was able to help Lawrence along without making an ass out of himself. He felt a little lightheaded, but he didn't think it was anything to be concerned about.

“Getting dark,” said Adam, vacantly.

Lawrence nodded, tightening his grip on Adam's arm. It was dark, and the steep hill they were traversing was a little too cobbled for him to manage alone on crutches. Maybe Adam was right, wondered Lawrence. Maybe I wasn't quite ready for this. The physical demands were exhausting. Every single step brought its new challenges, and brave Lawrence conquered each one in his own pace.

“Boy, you are getting better at this,” said Adam. “Doing better than me.”

Lawrence chuckled, “a lame horse could walk better than you when you're this drunk.”

“Alright,” groaned Adam. “Pay a guy a compliment…”

“I'm sorry, Adam,” said Lawrence apologetically. “I just… this is harder than I make it look. I'm glad you're here, helping me. I don't think I would be able to get anywhere without you. But, I wonder if this is as hard as it gets. Tomorrow might not be easier. What if I get worse? What if I'm never able to walk without someone there?”

“Hey,” softened Adam. “Don't think like that. I mean, you barely need me now. Look, you can move around the house by yourself with ease, and it's only been a day! I'm not a doctor, but I'd say your willpower is fucking godly.”

Lawrence nodded. “I suppose you're right,” he said, lowly.

If Adam had not been there, he might not have had the courage to walk at all. He was fine in his cumbersome wheelchair. He wanted to get strong for Adam, to show him that even he, who had suffered horrendously at the hands of a murderer, could recover, then so could Adam. He wanted to be an example to him; an icon to give his own life meaning. It was all for Adam, and Diana. He didn't do it for anyone else, not even himself.

They made it back to the house at a little after nine.

Adam was still a little tipsy, and had sat on the stairs as soon as they entered, as he couldn't quite make it to the couch.

Lawrence, likewise fell back against the door to close it, and he stayed there with his back to it, using it as a means of support. He stood opposite Adam.

“You alright?” Adam asked, leaning back heavily on the staircase.

“Fine,” said Lawrence after some thought. “Just a little sore.”

Adam looked up at him, smirked. “I'd give you a massage but my last girlfriend said my hands are like daggers. I said it was a compliment. Better than her bitchy tongue.”

Lawrence laughed, lightly. “That's okay, Adam,” he said, groaning as he pushed himself away from the door. “Come on, let's go to bed.”

“Bed?” Adam asked with a raised brow. “Let's, as in us? Jeez, can't I just sleep down here? I mean, you heard what I said, right? I don't share beds with guys, even nice guys like you. No offence. I'm sure you'll be a real gentleman and all, but I'm not that tired. Besides, don't you need the bed?”

“Don't argue,” said Lawrence, stepping on to the stairs and nudging Adam's leg with his crutch. “I'd rather not have to trip over you. Now, come on.”

Adam wanted to argue further but Lawrence had taken hold of his collar and just like that he was scrambling up the stairs with him, trying not to let the older man fall. It would have been awfully irresponsible of him. The idea of sharing a bed—with anyone—was troubling to Adam, but his slight drunkenness made him more pliable and less stubborn. He wanted to be close to Lawrence, in case something happened.

“Alright Dad,” said Adam.

“Stop that,” sighed Lawrence as the made it up the stairs.

The bedroom was cold, so much so that his initial hesitation was discarded when Adam saw the bed, looking as inviting as a bed possibly could. He half-jumped, half-fell, letting out a heavy moan as he did so, leaving Lawrence to do what he wanted. Adam laid there, eyes partially closed for a while as he listened to Lawrence move around the bedroom. It was a surreal experience, but Adam rarely had a drinking experience that wasn't surreal by the end of the night. He moved over to one side of the bed and got in as gracelessly as humanly possible, fully dressed and fully tired. He didn't know why Lawrence wanted him to sleep upstairs; he was getting used to sleeping downstairs. His body suffered because of it but he could name a dozen less desirable places he'd slept in his lifetime. Sleeping with Lawrence wasn't so bad. It beat being chained to a wall with him, that was for sure.

Unbeknownst to Adam, Lawrence was facing conflict. He hated the idea of Adam sleeping downstairs, hated it. He expected he would fight to not sleep in a bed when Lawrence needed it more. He also assumed he would fight to not share a bed. But at the same time, he was let with no option as it was the only bed in the house. Adam wouldn't have allowed Lawrence to sleep downstairs by himself in his condition when he had a comfortable bed to sleep in, either, he suspected, so rather than argue one way, he had to force Adam upstairs. The second conflict came from somewhere more internal. The idea of sharing a bed win a man he had been hiding many inappropriate emotions for, had him struggling with his inner demons: he couldn't, in his right mind, possibly think this was a good idea. He moved around the bedroom agonizing, glancing at the man laid there. He looked like a drowsy angel; a tempting devil. He wanted to take his hand and pull him to him. He didn't. Instead, he moved to the opposite side of the bed and sat there for the longest time, deep in thought, regretting and wanting. He eventually lifted himself up and carefully he laid back.

“Word of advice,” mumbled Adam. “I'm a kicker.”

The older man laughed through his nose and closed his eyes. He could feel Adam's warmth next to him. He had his back to him, but he realized with sadness, that this would likely be the closest he would ever get to Adam in terms of intimacy. He didn't even mind that Adam was a nocturnal kicker; it might not have been nice, but he'd take what he could get.

 

The next day for Adam started out with a momentary numb; a confusion drawing in to his mind. Questions: where, when, who? A part of him didn't want to know the answer. Then, he remembered, he'd shared sleeping space with another guy. He laughed throatily. A few years ago it wouldn't have been shocking, and today was no different. At least he knew he hadn't been taken advantage of in his sleeping state; he was still clothed. Not that he didn't trust Lawrence, because he did—with his life—but he had started to feel a little too close to him these few days. He got the feeling that Lawrence had lost a lot of his bedside manner over the years, yet he certainly radiated kindness and feeling around Adam. He looked over. Lawrence was there, awake, rubbing his eyes. He, too, was fully dressed, minus tie and jacket, and looked more than a little grumpy.

“Hey, man,” said Adam, roughly.

Lawrence uttered something inaudible, but was otherwise not up for lively conversation.

Adam was grateful for that. He wasn't a morning person. He wasn't a any person. With the weirdness building, Adam shifted to the edge of the bed and tried to get his body to operate properly. His head decided to have a party the moment he made his move, causing him to groan and flop back on the bed.

“Fuck me,” he grunted.

“Told you,” growled Lawrence. “You were drunk.”

Adam sighed and looked over at him. “I didn’t drink that much! Ow—jesus.”

“Yeah, right,” chuckled Lawrence. “You must just have just been dreaming about having a hangover. Wine, Adam. You're not supposed to… oh, never mind. I don't feel like lecturing.”

“Good, ‘cause I don't feel like listening.”

Lawrence sighed heavily and sat up in time to see Adam staggering off to the bathroom. He wanted to stop him, and drag him back to he bed, kiss his sore head and tell him to go back to sleep, he would take care of everything. But, he couldn't do that. He wasn't Adam's father, nor he his child. Adam was a grown man. Still, he felt bad for the grown man, who drank too much. Watching him go through any pain reminded him of terrible things.

Not remembering wasn't an option for Adam; he'd drank a little too much, but it wasn't enough to make him forget. As he sat there, on the floor of the bathroom, holding his pained head in his hands, he swore under his breath that he'd never be a slave to that kind of terror again. The rusted hell of a bathroom was forever an inescapable headache. He exited the bathroom some minutes later. Lawrence was sitting on the edge with his back to him. There was an aura of torment about him.

“Hey, uhh,” Adam slurred. “Is everything okay?”

Turning his head to glance sideways at the man standing there, Lawrence nodded. “Yes. I just… need… I need to call home. I, haven't spoken to Diana in a couple of days. She must be worried,” he said, pushing himself to a stand.

“Hey, wait,” Adam said, rushing to help him. “Slow down, I'll help…”

“Adam,” Lawrence said, gently easing Adam away. “It's fine, really. I need to do this myself. There are many things in my life in which I need you; but right now, I just need to get in to Dad mode, if you understand me.”

“Dad mode?” Sneered Adam. “What the hell is that? Some kind of weird robot thing?”

“No, Adam,” chuckled Lawrence. “I need to be alone to think about, and remember how to speak to my daughter. It's harder than it sounds.”

Adam stopped him. “Can't you practice on me? I don't have any Daddy issues.”

“Practice?” Lawrence was tempted to say _yes, yes please_.

Adam smirked and suddenly knocked back Lawrence on to the bed. He was so surprised that any words he tried to say was completely shut down. The younger man plainly didn't want Lawrence to go anywhere. Was he having flashbacks again? Flashbacks of being left alone? If he did, he didn’t let on as he jumped right on top of Lawrence, and pinned his hands behind his head.

“Adam,” Lawrence's breath caught in his throat. “What the hell—?”

“Shh,” grinned Adam. “It's early. Can't have you waking up Diana, on, what is it?”

“Sunday,” grunted Lawrence.

“On Sunday,” nodded Adam.

“Adam, what's gotten in to you? Recovered so soon?”

Adam shifted and he was sitting on Lawrence's stomach, dangerously close to that certain responsive part of him that had been so far been neglected. Lawrence groaned and squirmed under the younger man; he may have been small but he grappled with determination. In the position he was in, Lawrence, with his legs hanging off the bed, feet on the floor, he hadn't the lower body capabilities to simply throw him off. It was an awkward move, and Lawrence was concerned for Adam's distinctly lively rebuttal.

“Recovered? Recovered from what? A few glasses of wine? Pssh,” Adam shook his head. “No way, man. This is the other R word: Revenge. Makes sense, right? I mean, you took me down pretty good earlier. You think I'd just forget that, old man?”

“God, again with the old man?” Lawrence rolled his eyes, let his head fall back. “Whatever. Hurry up and take your revenge then, I've got a phone call to make.”

“Hm,” Adam snorted. “You suck at this. You're not even gonna try and fight back?”

“Nope,” said Lawrence, resigned to laying there under Adam.

Adam, didn't like that. He didn't like not being taken seriously. He slapped Lawrence, lightly, on the forehead, and then again on the other side, trying to get Lawrence riled up. “Come on, this isn't fun. You got a lot of feeling in there. Aren't you just… tired of holding it all in? I know you're pissed off—you've gotta be; sawed foot, family gone, bastards of the world still out there? I know I am. Now a jerk sitting on you, whacking you in the face…”

“You rotten, little jerk,” growled Lawrence.

“Ooh, that's more like it,” laughed Adam. “I can't think of a better Hanover cure than taking out all that frustration on somebody.”

“That's what this is about?” Barked Lawrence. “You are such a little…”

It wasn't about that. Adam was fairly deceptive in his reasoning. The memories of the bathroom haunted him still. The loneliness he felt, the darkness; the screaming. He never wanted Lawrence to leave him alone again. The urge to not let Lawrence leave was unusually strong this morning, spurred by him saying he needed to call his family. I'm your family, thought Adam selfishly. Lawrence, don't leave me. It was irrational, but what was rational about any of this. He wasn't even sure of what he was doing. He just wanted Lawrence to stay, even if it meant taking him down. Lawrence wouldn't mind that much, surely. Hell, he might even enjoy it.

“Go on,” dared Adam, grinning madly. “You know you want to.”

“Adam,” yes, I want to, god yes. “Knock it off, or so help me, I'll—”

“You'll what?” Adam taunted. “Kick my ass? With what?”

Lawrence growled, struggling against Adam's grip. “Oh, I'll get you for that one.”

With a great and skilful twist, Lawrence had rolled Adam over on to the bed. However, he didn't correctly calculate his stopping power and found himself rolling off Adam, and laying on his back next to him. Too fast for him to stop, Adam was on top again in no time. Lawrence's own reactions may have been less honed as a result of his injury and so he wasn't nearly as prepared as he could have been. The only reactions in perfect order were the ones he was trying his hardest to conceal, but the more Adam moved, wrestled, the more responsive his body became, until Lawrence found himself actively trying to shift himself as far from Adam as he could before the game was revealed.

Adam laughed, and gripped and rolled; all in good fun, and just the kind of thing he needed. To be close to Lawrence and _not_ look like a sissy.

The burning in Lawrence's gut came too insistent to ignore; his arousal became peaked, feeling Adam's leg push its way between his thighs. He whimpered out, certain Adam in his innocence had no idea how this close proximity was affecting the older man. He tried to move away, push Adam off, but he didn't have the heart to make it look like he was refusing his rare moment of physical vulnerability. He loved Adam like this, open to him, touching, feeling, without intent. It was simple, childish, but Lawrence felt the heat push him away. He couldn't let Adam do this, not knowing how badly he wanted it.

“Adam, come on…” whined Lawrence.

“What's the matter? Getting tired?”

“No… I,” Lawrence clenched his teeth; he couldn't take much more.

Lawrence warned himself: take a stand, be firm. Just tell him, back off, enough is enough, joke is over. But he couldn't; his skin burned with desire, and his body tensed with yearning. He wanted to do more than just lay there, his brain became clouded with unwanted, unspent lust. Adam was pushing against him, all it would take would be a slow, rhythmic grind, and…

The shuddering yelp gave it away.

Adam didn't know what happened. First, everything was fine. He and Lawrence were wrestling on the bed (something he'd deny ever happening) and the next Lawrence was shaking, gasping, convulsing under him. He was terrified. As quickly as he could, the confused and scared Adam climbed off of Lawrence and made him lay straight on his back.

“Lawrence?” He gasped, trying to get him to respond. “Oh my god, Lawrence. Are you alright? Shit—shit, talk to me… fuck, I hurt you, I'm so fucking stupid…”

“No, Adam…” choked out Lawrence. “I'm—I'm fine…”

Giving him some space, Adam's nausea became a wave of relief, tainted with guilt. No matter what Lawrence said, he knew he'd hurt him somehow—he was trying to tough it out like he always did. Adam saw through his game, and he felt terrible. He moved to help Lawrence as the older man sluggishly moved to a stand, but he was effectively given the cold shoulder, bringing angry self-hatred to Adam. How could he have been so reckless? Lawrence wasn't a young man, and he certainly wasn't playing back. In fact, he told Adam multiple times to stop, but he thought he was just… acting. _Shit_. Adam shifted to the edge of the bed and watched with overwhelming guilt as Lawrence angrily stormed off to the bathroom, to get away from Adam before he reacted appropriately.

Lawrence was humiliated—mortified. He crammed himself in to the bathroom in record speed for a guy with limited mobility. Disbelief and horror struck him in to a state of complete breakdown; sitting on the toilet bowl, shivering and crying. He couldn't believe what had just happened. After all he's done mentally to prevent this happening, how could he have been so weak? Not even the fact that they were fully clothed could convince Lawrence that he had done something any less disgusting. He hated himself. For the first time in his life, he had achieved orgasm with a man—without a consenting partner. He felt like a creep, even more than he had with his years of cheating on his wife. At least he could hide that deep in his secret lives. Here he had only one life, with Adam, and he'd ruined it all over a moment of weakness. He tossed a glass soap dish against the wall in a sudden burst of anger. It shattered dully, and he resumed his pained sobbing.

How could he let this happen?

Adam paced about the room, fearful and desolate; wondering whether he should enter the bathroom or not. Would Lawrence yell at him? He hadn't been this scared for a while. It was a different kind of fear, abstract and personal, like a child knowing he had done something wrong and was awaiting punishment. But this was bullshit. Adam was no pathetic kid, he would face his problems. Even if the idea of seeing Lawrence in pain, because of _him_ , was immeasurably difficult, he knew he had to hammer the apology home before a wedge was driven between them. The sound of glass breaking made his heart skip a beat. Had Lawrence fallen? He couldn't take it—he knocked and slowly opened the door.

“Adam, go away,” muttered Lawrence, urgently hiding his face in his sleeve.

“Lawrence, come on,” he sighed, poking his head inside. “It was an accident—I…”

“—it wasn’t an accident,” sobbed Lawrence. “Just… please, go downstairs. I can't talk to you right now.”

Adam hiccuped back on his tears and quietly left the room with a burning in his that and a stinging in his eyes. Lawrence must really hate him. He continued emotionless out of the room and down the stairs, for once avoiding a scene. He fell upon the couch and buried his face in to a pillow, just wanting to forget things for a while and black out. Like everything locked in his brain, it could not be easily be suppressed; he'd do his best to apologize to Lawrence later, after he'd cooled down. He laid there for a long time, effectively failing to block out the sounds of Lawrence shuffling around upstairs, leaving the bathroom and the sound of the bed accepting his weight. It sounded like a very slow, careful and deliberate move, trying to remain hidden. He hated that. Lawrence was avoiding him. Covering his ears, Adam made the sounds, as well as the sights, disappear for a wile.

How long it was later when Adam let the world in became an unknown factor, all that he knew was that he felt better; the aching unhappiness he'd felt earlier had devolved to a dull, hazy nausea. Lawrence's voice mumbled from somewhere in the kitchen. By the sounds of it, he was talking to Diana, quietly as to not earn too much attention. Cautiously, Adam sat up and rubbed his eyes. Somehow he felt even worse as realization set it. He should have known even his unwanted existence couldn't stop him from calling his daughter. If he'd have thought, he'd have left the house for a while and given him some privacy instead of taking up space, haunting the place.

When he'd done speaking to Diana and Alison, Lawrence, with every intent of a truce, tentatively moved to sit next to Adam, still not looking directly at him.

No words were exchanged, only the unwavering rift and repellent that seemed intent on staying. Both men sat there, saying nothing. Adam was still as stone, unblinking; Lawrence looked down, knotted his fingers together. Neither quite knew how to form words that could accurately portray the regrets they had, though they both desperately wanted to do just do that. It was hard, but someone needed to break ground first.

Shifting his feet, Adam made his move before he lost the nerve. He stood and turned to face the other man. “Now, Lawrence,” he said, quickly. “Before you say anything, let me just say that I'm sorry—I'm a prick—I wasn't thinking. I guess,” he stopped and scratched the back of his head. “I guess if you wanna catergorize it, you might say I was being a bit needy. Okay, I hold my hands up say yeah, I probably was. It's not like me, and I don't know what got in to me. That's all I wanted to say—how else can I say it?”

Lawrence shook his head. “No,” he said with affirmation. “Don't—Adam—you don't have any reason to apologize. You've done nothing wrong, absolutely nothing. If anything, you were too trusting of me, and it's me who should apologize… I… I can't explain why. I couldn't stop it, and believe me, I tried.”

“Yes,” said Adam. “You did, and I should have stopped, instead of being a—”

“No,” repeated Lawrence, firmly grabbing Adam by the arms.

Adam went silent in submission, and stared in shock at the older man's insistence.

“Do not deceive yourself in this. It was my fault. I took advantage of the situation. You weren’t aware of what I was going through. I should have been more firm. But deep down, I didn't want you to stop. I didn't, damnit, and should have. I just hope that we can move on from this, and not let anything like this happen again.”

“Wait,” Adam blinked. “What are we talking about?”

At that point, for the first time, it became painfully clear that Adam had no idea what he was talking about. He thought something else was the cause of Lawrence's unease. It was a startling, but relieving revelation that the older man had to stop and think before lightheadedness impeded his corrections. He could not tell Adam of what was really going on, he just _couldn't_ , it might be the end of everything, and as much as he hated lying to him, he knew it was a kindness that was massively exceeding his otherwise cowardly motives. It was better for all involved that the truth remained untold. Lawrence had been given a chance, and he did not want to pass up this rare opportunity.

“It doesn't matter,” said Lawrence. “Just know that mistakes were made, and that this shouldn't change a thing—not a thing—and know that you were not at fault. Under less undesirable circumstances, I would have been delighted for you to take that kind of interest in our friendship. You're a good person Adam,” he said, taking his hands. “I only wish that one day I'll be half the man you are. Never lose that light, it makes you.”

Adam smiled, weakly. “And what does that mean?”

“Never mind,” said Lawrence. “Just be yourself, and everything will go your way.”

“You don't know me that well,” argued Adam. “If I was myself, I might not have found you. Being myself gets me in to trouble—look at what happened this morning.”

Lawrence growled, “stop thinking about that. We will work out everything together, and damn the past, there's nothing there any more. I would be an idiot if I said we didn't both have demons, Adam. But it's nothing we can't handle with honesty and courage.”

Adam nodded, though he didn't exactly know what any of that meant, but, if it meant that Lawrence was willing to overlook his flaws, it was a good thing. He took back his hands and kneeled down in front of Lawrence and placed both his hands on the older man's knees. “Yes, y-you're right,” he said, shakily. “I know I'd die before losing myself. As long as you're here, Lawrence, I think I'll be happy…”

Wrought with guilt, Lawrence let out a shaky, wordless sigh as he agreed with Adam the terms of their friendship: Lawrence would never take advantage of the situation again, and give himself entirely to his own recovery and as Adam's friend and confidant. He knew Adam was still unaware of that part of him, his needs and desires went unchecked until recently, and that went by as an undetected accident. There was still time to fix this thing before he allowed his feelings for Adam sully his judgement. If was up to him.

“I'll be happy, too,” said Lawrence, quietly. “If you're with me.”

 

Moving on from their conversation, Adam asked Lawrence about back home. He told him that Alison was fine, and had left the house on more than one occasion. She told Lawrence to say hello to him for her, which he did. Diana expressed interest in visiting them as soon as possible, but Lawrence gently dissuaded her, informing her that the current housing was only temporary—Lawrence had some local dwellings to view, and as soon as he and Adam had found a permanent fixture, and even jobs, Diana was welcome to visit whenever her mother agreed to it. He also then told Adam about the pending divorce. It would only come after Lawrence settled, and after he testified against their terrorizer.

Afterwards, Lawrence was still distant and quiet.

“Risking sounding like a broken record,” said Adam. “Can we get something to eat?”

Lawrence paused before smiling and moving to get up. “Of course. You can help me if you like. We'll wing it in the kitchen.”

“Wing it?” Asked Adam, with a look of mock surprise on his face. “Like you've ever winged anything in your whole entire life…”

There was still an immense weight upon the doctor’s shoulders; Adam may not have known about it, but it was heavy, looming, overbearing, preventing him from truly being lighthearted in the affair. Sharing a bed with Adam was a mistake, he concluded, as he moved to the kitchen with the younger man flanking him. He knew what he was doing when he insisted Adam slept beside him, and it was nothing to do with comfort. If he was being honest, he was still aroused at the memory of Adam, writhing around on top of him. It was wrong, he knew it, but that didn't stop his cock from plumping up inside his still-sticky slacks. There was nothing further he could do; he'd reached the point of no return regarding his sexual attraction to Adam, he just had to keep himself in check from now on and not be entranced by Adam's closeness, or his willingness to show affection. Adam did not love him.

Adam wasn't that dense; he knew something was going on with Lawrence. The way he wasn't speaking or smiling with honesty told him that he was in all likelihood, still in pain from earlier. It was best, since Lawrence wasn't mentioning it, that he ignored it until things went back to normal. If Lawrence didn't want to talk about it, it meant that he was probably trying not to worry Adam, and that was a step forward at least.

They worked together to create something edible, without going overboard.

“There,” said Adam proudly. “Not bad. I think we make a good team, you know when we're not stuck at opposite ends of a room together.”

Lawrence smiled. “You're right—you are,” he said. “I'd rather you didn't phrase it that way, but yes, we do work well together.”

“Great,” said Adam. “Well, I'm hungry, so anything would look good right now.”

“Yes,” laughed Lawrence.

“I don't usually have much to do with kitchens, Lawrence,” Adam confessed, starting playing up the food, unable to resist sucking sauce off of his finger. “So this was pretty eye-opening, and all that shit.”

“Really,” said Lawrence. “It didn't show at all.”

“Fuck off,” said Adam with a little chuckle.

Lawrence moved over and provided Adam with space to take over with the rest of the work as he didn't want to trip and cause a disastrous fall that would be counterproductive.

Adam didn't seem to mind at all, and he pulled out a small table and pushed it in front of the couch. He put the food on plates and put plates on the table. Adam had changed out of the mostly soiled pants and put on his old jeans and wore a loose-fitting black t-shirt in favor over the buttoned shirt. He sat down after putting on the television and made space for the other man to join him.

Without checking what was on television, the duo sat and ate, and silently listened to the news programming.

_‘…and our top stories: with law enforcement issuing statements regarding closing in on the media-dubbed Jigsaw Killer, more victims are being found, and questions are being asked; who is orchestrating the crimes and how many more must be found dead before the alleged perpetrator, John Kramer, is found? Next, in entertainment…’_

Lawrence was the first to react to the news, but neither man said anything in response. They had not forgotten. But they had started to feel safe. This was not an encouraging development. He lifted his head and stopped chewing, eyes fixated on the screen for the duration. He wasn't sure how to feel.

Adam kept his head down, staring at the plate, back tense and posture rigid. Only when the subject moved on did they move on; Adam wanted to scream, throw his plate across the room. How the fuck? He shook his head and continued to eat, but it was embittered by the darkness. It was filling but not as enjoyable now. _How does he manage to turn everything he touches to cancer? Not even Lawrence can fix this_.


	17. Perspective

Nothing was easy. That is, Lawrence Gordon decided that nothing worth having came easy. Every day was a struggle where the gears caught and fought against each other in a never-ending battle for that elusive land of milk and honey that seemed forever mired in strife. Lawrence Gordon never forgot what he had to do to make it so far, but he also knew that there would be more difficulties ahead. He had an easy life once, and without being fully aware, he'd sought to make it harder; burying himself in work; estranging himself from family; dissolving his marriage bit by bit with the various women over the years. He'd made things harder, because a challenge was something he saw—as an experienced Oncologist—was something to conquer, to purge. And he wanted rid of the feelings in his heart, now which plagued him with unwanted desires. He wanted things for once to be uncomplicated.

“Adam, want are you doing?” He asked.

The younger man was on his back, on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, just staring up at them, one hand behind his head, the other lay across his stomach. All he said was, “perspective.”

Lawrence stood over him, trying not to impede on whatever bizarre activity he was engaged in. It has been several hours since the news had reached them of the scope and span of Jigsaw’s progress. They hadn't been the first victims, and they weren't the last. It was safe to say he had bigger fish to fry these days. The Doctor didn't know what to say, and Adam didn't respond at all. He suspected this… whatever he was doing, was in direct influence of the unnerving update. He himself had forgotten his overarching lust and guilt for that lust with the dark news returning to scrape at his heels. It widened his senses; there were more important things to worry about right now.

“…and what does that mean?” Asked Lawrence, patiently.

“Shh,” said Adam, shifting his legs slightly. “Just… when you look at something a different way, it changes your whole perception of reality. Haven't you ever noticed that? It's like… when you're moving house. You pack up everything. Your _whole_ life, in these… tiny boxes. And then you look at it and you're like is this really my whole life? It's weird, isn't it? The way you look at things—the way you see things. You might be looking at me now, saying _what the fuck is that loser doing on the floor_? I'm here wondering why you're _not_ down here, man. There are things to see _everywhere_. Even where you think you've seen it all.”

Lawrence watched as Adam suddenly shifted position and laid on his stomach, chin on the bottom step, feet up against the wall behind him. He was just _looking_. Lawrence moved closer and leaned against the post at the bottom of the stairs. “That's very interesting.”

“This step here… the first step,” mused Adam, running his finger in to the dust in the edge of the wooden stair. “The first step is the hardest. But is it? Look at it. It's no different than the others. The only hard part is having to do it all over again; to look up, and see that there's still a fucking _long_ way to go. It just… it's a bitch.”

Seeing what this was all about, Lawrence sighed. He wanted to lay there with him, stroke his hair and tell him it would all be alright, but he couldn't do that. He didn't know if it would be alright. Eventually there would be some things to face that led to scary places. He hoped Adam could get over it all, but he doubted he ever would. It was nice, talking about the television, eating, laughing, but under there, there would always be that layer of poison. As a doctor, he wanted to cure him, but like Adam said, the journey ahead was tough—there was never going to be a quick fix to this problem.

“Adam, get up,” said Lawrence. “You're getting dirty there on the floor.”

“Well, maybe I think you are too clean,” Adam snorted.

 _If only_ , thought Lawrence.

Even so, Adam sluggishly moved out of the strange position and to a stand. He knew Lawrence was worried. But what was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to react? He grunted and shook his head. His clothes were streaked with dust from the floor where he'd laid, but he simply dusted himself off and moved on.

Lawrence told himself to not be surprised by anything Adam said or did—he was tormented. He went and sat down with him on the couch, and tried seeing it from his perspective.

“Can you believe?” Laughed Adam. “That we were the lucky ones? Fuck.”

“It's hard to picture that at this minute,” replied Lawrence.

“That's what I mean,” he said, turning on the couch to face him. His eyes were wide with excitement, the way he got when he was on a roll. “I don't _feel_ lucky… but try telling that to the families of those poor bastards that are lying six feet under right now. I bet they'd love to have them back, minus feet, hands, eyes, whatever. They'd say I got off easy… then why do I feel like I'd be better off dead?”

Lawrence shook his head. He didn't like Adam talking like that. He moved his hand on to Adam's shoulder and squeezed roughly, letting him know he wasn't alone.

“I think that was what he wanted… in the end… to turn me in to a sad, pathetic fucking mess like him. Like us. I mean, how the hell do people like that even exist? You know, I'm not even mad anymore—I hate him, sure—but I don't have anything to complain about. What's a few hours as a prisoner and a gun shot anyway? Fuck him. It's better than being a dead man.”

“You may be right about that,” hushed Lawrence. “And it's good that you're talking about this. I can't tell you how many people have come up to me, reporters, other doctors, asking me about what happened. I always say, that there isn't words accurate enough to to portray what we went through—I told them, but they didn't understand… they'd get this… vacant, sympathetic expression on their faces.”

“Yeah,” said Adam eagerly. “No one really _gets_ that!”

“The mean well, Adam,” assured Lawrence.

“Yeah, but they're fucking idiots!” He laughed. “They wanna pretend that they get it—because it's the normal thing to do. But none of them really want to know… like, it's scary, because it could have been them, and they know it.”

Lawrence saw it, in Adam, an unhappiness, a boredom, a restlessness. He wanted to just forget what he'd gone through and move on. Lawrence did, too. “Where are your cameras, Adam?” He asked, knowing he had some hidden away.

Adam blinked, “why?”

“Just fetch one—quickly,” said Lawrence, waving his hand.

Adam didn't get it, but he didn't argue. He thought Lawrence was crazy, but whatever, he got up and did as he was told. The cameras he'd removed from his shitty car sat in a plastic bag and had been stowed inside his jacket inside a cardboard box. He took the bag and moved back over to Lawrence with them. He was wondering what Lawrence wanted to see them for, but as soon as he heard them clattering around in the bag, he was filled with old memories—not all bad ones either. He splayed them out one by one on the couch and sat down opposite Lawrence.

“What's this one?” Asked Lawrence, pointing at one.

Adam was uncomfortable with this: for the longest time he had associated himself and his cameras and indeed profession, with a seedy world, not meant to be talked about. Now, he wondered why—why. What motive could Lawrence possibly have to want to know about—to _see_ —this side of him? It made him nervous. It was like he was wanting to peer in to his porn collection, it wasn't entirely without hesitation.

“This one, is-is uh,” he stuttered, taking the black device in his hands, remembering the way it felt, remembering. “It's, uh, a zoom-lens, non-flash.”

“Oh, really,” said Lawrence with a smirk. “I'm unclear on what that means, Adam. Why don't you tell me what this particular camera was used for?”

Adam looked at him. He was certain Lawrence knew that this was one of the cameras he had around for his… covert operations. It wasn't his main camera, and by far it was his least favorite, but he couldn't help but try to deflect Lawrence. “It's nothing, man. Forget it. See this one—”

“But I don't want to know about that one,” said Lawrence, moving Adam's hands down. “I'd like you to tell me more about _this_ one.”

Adam followed Lawrence's hands as the left his own and tapped the camera in question. The warmth that left his hands as Lawrence moved on left him strangely cold, scared.

“Um,” he looked down, pointing the camera lens at his own face. “I'd rather we talk about something else… if it's not too much trouble.”

Lawrence leaned back, and smiled, “you're so cute when you're being evasive.”

“Shut up, man,” sneered Adam.

There was a moment, in Lawrence then, just a _moment_ , that Lawrence felt Adam was being coy on purpose. Fishing. He liked the attention Lawrence lavished on him, secretly. It was a slip, calling him cute: it was such an inappropriate term to attach to a man as unremittingly brash as Adam, but he loved the way Adam hated it. That was cute. He could even overlook the stark femininity in Adam that he could barely contain with his swearing and false bravado, because he saw what kind of person Adam was when it boiled down to it. He was a scared boy, who needed company but didn't like to be tied down.

“No, I mean it,” said Lawrence, teasing. He leaned in and took Adam by the chin, posed his head like a toy doll to look at him. Predictably, Adam pulled away. Lawrence only chuckled to himself. Making Adam tense and irritable (more so) was a rather entertaining pastime, and brought him down when things were getting too heavy.

“Do you wanna know about these cameras, or are you trying to fuck me?” Asked Adam, effectively putting his foot down. “‘Cause I only have expertise in one of those. So, back off alright? Jeez.”

“Alright,” chuckled Lawrence. “I apologize. Go on.”

“Damn,” grunted Adam; he knew he'd been out-psyched in to discussing this—because he really didn't want to. “Alright—alright. You wanna know? Fine. This… thing. This camera… piece of shit. I used when I was doing jobs—clients who paid in cash—if you know what I mean. And no—before you ask—this isn't the one (that I used on you), this was a cheap thing I bought early on just to get started. Turned out it only looked good, it sucked in the dark, so after a few scrapes I got upgraded, and no again, I don't have _that_ one. Hated it. Hated what it represented in me.”

“And what did it represent?” Pushed Lawrence.

Adam made a sound, a whining sound in his throat. He wanted to tell him, but this was a little too personal. He knew what it was, and Lawrence could probably see it too, but saying it out loud was something quite different. It was acknowledgement.

“Come on,” persuaded Lawrence, with a gentleness. “It's alright. You can tell me.”

“Don't you think I know that?” Said Adam, spitefully.

Lawrence remained patient. He knew Adam had a lot going on. He relented to touch Adam any more, knowing anything he had to say would not be caressed out of him.

“Failure,” Adam said quickly. “It meant failure, alright.” Adam began to falter further in his resolve; truth out there, he figured why the hell not just shut up and leave it there.

“Can you elaborate?” Asked Lawrence.

“Fuck _you_ ,” he sighed and stood up and commenced his usual routing of walking and talking. “I destroyed that fucking camera because it reminded me of what I did to you—of what I had become. It reminded me that I was always going to be a disgusting little waste of space, laughing in my face. I had to get rid of it. If only that cancer fuck could do the same with that shit growing inside him we wouldn't be in this mess…”

Lawrence sat up straight. “You think this is a mess?”

Adam stopped, his fingers were in he process of tugging at his hair. At first he couldn't understand what Lawrence was talking about. He walked back over to him and saw the weirdness in his eyes that he'd seen a few times before. “This? You and me? No way. It's fucked up and sorta sad, but whatever—I swear you're like, the only real friend I think I've ever had,” he laughed and choked at the same time. “I mean, I've _had_ friends… if you can call ‘em that. You know, school… college… whatever, but you're like… way beyond that kind of friendship. It's stupid, you probably think I'm some idiot for thinking we're friends when really, it's just… dependence.”

“Dependence?” Asked Lawrence, with a sudden spark of anger crossing him. If he could have stood rapidly, he would have. “Is that all you think this is? Adam,” he reached and took Adam's hands, and didn't take no for an answer this time. “After all we've been through, do you really think that I think you are anything less than my best friend?”

“Seriously?” Adam laughed nervously, and tried pulling back away, but Lawrence wouldn't let him. “Come on, man. We wouldn't even know each other's names if it wasn't for this bullshit. If we met, outside that bathroom… I would have hated you! And don't even try telling me that you would have said instantly: _ooh, you seem like a pleasant young man, I'd like to get to know you_. Hell, no. We both know, that if we hadn't met there in that shitty rusty craphole, we would both still be lonely, miserable bastards.”

Lawrence was a little surprised, he let Adam's hands go, “I don't believe that, Adam.”

“You're still in denial?” Laughed Adam. “You got a problem with that, man. Wake up.”

“Adam,” Lawrence shook his head. “Okay, say if you're right, and if it wasn't for that… particular situation, we wouldn't have met. Fine. What's the problem? It happened, and I'm not denying that. It happened. We met. And we happened to become friends. I like you. Do you like me?”

“Jesus christ, Lawrence…” Adam rolled his eyes.

Lawrence could see this was uncomfortable for Adam. There wasn't much room for error here, he thought: _if Adam doesn't like me, fine, I still love him_. He was standing there like an awkward teenager, being _forced_ by his parent to say _I love you_. It was a mistake to put someone as volatile as Adam on the spot like this, but he desperately wanted Adam to feel like he was wanted and he wasn't alone. Most of all he just wanted confirmation.

“Well?” Continued Lawrence. “Either you like me or you don't—it's not that hard.”

“What kind of asshole question…”

Breathing a sigh, Lawrence shook his head. “I'm sorry,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I shouldn't have brought it up.”

“No,” said Adam stopping him. “I'm not sorry—I-I'm glad you brought it up, because I'm not so insecure that I can't talk about this, you know… I'm not some fucking emotionless wreck. I'm not a robot. I _have_ feelings. So… yes, if you gotta know. Yes, I like you. I mean, it was weird at first, but I think I got over that after that Zep guy tried to off you. You… weren't nearly as _rich white guy_ as I first thought, what with you crawling around bleeding and all. How could I not like you? Pssh, come on, man, really?”

Lawrence smiled, looked down.

“I mean, most of my old friends weren't as _mature_ as you, but maybe that's a good thing.”

“Most of my friends weren't as immature as you,” chuckled Lawrence. “And that _is_ a good thing.”

Adam found himself seated next to Lawrence again, and began to handle his old cameras again. He looked at them, and realized: they were just fucking cameras… just bits of plastic, metal and glass clumped together—no big deal—it was the hands that held them that forced them to commit good or commit evil. Just like a gun, totally useless and harmless alone, but In the wrong (or right) hands, it could create senseless devastation. Adam ruined lives forever with the help of this harmless collection, and he hated it. Harnessing the power was subjective: one person could be pleased with what remained locked in those same photographs. And he'd had his share of them, too. He was ready to move on. Ready to pick up his cameras and clean his conscience; take shots—any shots, it didn't matter as long as it didn't lead him down that road again, because it was _okay_. It was _okay_ for a murderer to wield a knife as soon as he got out of jail, as long as he didn't use it in the wrong way. But what was the wrong way? Adam felt like, using his brain, and his friendship, he could get over this hump and discover his old passion the way it was meant to be enjoyed. Parties, wildlife shots… whatever. It was honest, and that was a hell of a lot more rewarding than the dirty money he supposedly _earned_ working in the shadows like a ghoul.

 

Adam was excited.

Not long after his newfound determination, Adam insisted Lawrence come with him later the same day, and promised that he wouldn't be a pack mule. In fact, Adam took only one camera with him—one of the first he'd ever bought with his own money. It was one of he few proud moments of his life, being able to afford something of his own. They didn't travel far, just outside and around the very small neighborhood, but to him it was like treading out on to the surface of a different world; not the city he was used to doing this in. There wasn't much to see, but Adam was enraptured by the mechanics of it all again. The framing, the shadows and light, the background and foreground, the placements. It was all very scientific at times, and it was easy to lose passion when all the good photographs were so simple that a child could manage it on any day of the week, but he felt like he was just starting out again. Back in the old days Adam would take pictures of anything and everything, just hoping to catch that rare _something_ that no one else had seen before. It never happened of course, and somewhere between the first shots and the last, boredom struck and he used to take pictures as a chore more than for enjoyment. But now he felt that old spark of enjoyment, making him wonder what the fuck happened anyway, and he continued on, being careful not to look like a moronic tourist as he moved along taking photographs of buildings, new and old; of nature, what there was of it; and of the sky, looking blue and cloudy. When he returned to Lawrence, who had been sitting by on a bench, he aimed the camera right at him, dropped down on one knee, and took it.

“Adam,” blinked Lawrence. “Come on, what are you doing?”

“Making up,” he said quickly, grinning. “I took a lot of fucked-up pictures of you, man. This way I get to even things out a little, and capture something pretty rare…”

“Okay,” said Lawrence, reluctant in his agreement. “And that is?”

“The aftermath,” he said with a happy shrug. “Of someone who came closer to death than anyone I know, and who is still alive, and kicking—if you, you know what I mean. A miracle: life after death. I'm making you my subject of the day, right now, Lawrence.”

“Don't I feel lucky,” groaned Lawrence.

“Yup,” said Adam, moving closer, zooming out, taking a succession of still-shots. “You are, you _really_ are.”

While Adam implied more than what was said, Lawrence chose to ignore it; the sight of Adam drew him in to a developing state of warmth and contentment. He loved seeing Adam this enthusiastic about something, about anything. He let him take the pictures, but was visibly uncomfortable with the whole thing, leaning on one elbow, hiding most of his face, not letting eyes settle on the busy lens. Suspecting Adam preferred his posture to be candid, he didn't try to manipulate himself to suit standards, he reacted exactly how he wanted to react, which was avoidant.

“Jesus,” panted Adam, excitedly. “You look so fucking moody…”

“Should I be smiling?” Said Lawrence, with glaring displeasure.

“No-no, man, just… perfect. Just stay like you are, and I think I have what I need.”  
Lawrence did as Adam requested, and remained seated. After a few shots, complacency set in and he began to forget the camera was there at all as he looked out across the streets, a slight breeze blowing at his hair. He was happy to help.

Another few shots, and Adam wasn't bored; he'd taken several more of Lawrence and then moved on to a couple more of the surrounding area, for old times’ sake. When he decided enough was enough, and that this trip down memory lane should be stopped before he became _too_ absorbed, he sheepishly strolled back to the older man and stood there in front of him, holding the camera and moving it around in his hands.

“Sorry about the lab rat type shit,” he laughed. “I guess I got carried away. You'd like pretty breathtaking I'm black and white though, really give some mood to your grouchiness.”

“Yeah, yeah” grunted Lawrence, getting up. “Let's get back home, shall we?”

Adam nodded in agreement and shivered slightly from the cold sea wind. His stomach was still in knots; his first (albeit brief) excursion in to photography since the whole Doctor Gordon mess, and he was feeling refreshed, and still excited for further opportunities to develop his old art form in ways he never had before. This town may have been small, but that only meant there was more for him to see, he'd miss very little, but even in towns like these, there was something happening _every_ day—something new and different to enscribe on to photography paper. Sure, right now he was only getting a feel of it again, but with enough time and practice… he was already starting to feel like there was some hope out there on the horizon to look forward to. He wanted to thank Lawrence for making him look at e cameras again, but he didn't quite know how, and he didn't think a simple _thanks, man_ , quite spelled his gratitude clearly enough.

“Wanna go out again tonight?” Asked Adam, out of the blue.

Lawrence blinked, and just stopped his staggered pace to stagger on the spot. He knew Adam likely had a game. He didn't _really_ think that he had had a good time the night before. They'd chatted, caught up, and ate. It was fine, but it wasn't really Adam's thing, even he could see that. “What's the catch?”

“My terms,” chirped Adam. “The nearest bar we can find. I don't drink, usually, but in spirit of turning over a new leaf and all the crap, I wanna go get fucking drunk, and not have to worry about tomorrow. Now, I _know_ you gotta know of a good little place that's open nearby, so what do you say?”

What else could Lawrence say? He nodded.

“Great,” said Adam. “No suits or ties required, just… guy time.”

“Guy time?” Lawrence raised his brow. “I don't know if you've noticed this, but Adam, we aren't like _most_ guys.”

Adam laughed, “I know that fuckwad, but whatever it is that you wanna call it, then, we'll do that. Get drunk closer to home so you don't fall in a gutter and drown in your own puke.”

“That… sounds delightful,” droned Lawrence with a grimace.

“Lighten up,” said Adam with a pat on the older man's back. “There's a good chance I'll be unconscious before that ever happens… because I am such a lightweight, aren't I?”

When they returned home, just around the corner from where they had been, Adam found a place to hang his cameras where he wouldn't be ashamed to look at them anymore—slung over the lower rail of the stairs, right in eyeline when he walked in from now on. He could grab one, step out, easy.

Lawrence's unease about getting drunk with Adam was rooted not in distaste for the particular brand of establishment, (he did rather used to like bars) but in his own personal distrust in himself. A little too many drinks and he could become what Diana called ‘grumpy daddy’. He was not a fun drunk. However, what he feared the most, was Adam; loosening up, touching, smiling… he didn't want to make an idiot out of himself. Because he knew, if Adam didn't know about him already by this point, getting drunk with him would bring it all out. He couldn't afford such a risk, he needed to watch his limits, keep his hands and his mouth to himself. If he was lucky, his excuses would let him off with just one drink. Though, he doubted Adam would let it slide this night.

Adam had every intention in getting drunk. He was celebrating! He'd cleansed a dirty part of himself that he'd been neglecting. He might have even won back a piece of his soul, which he'd likely lose getting by wasted, but whatever, he been neglecting that too.

 

Dressed in jeans and a chequered shirt and jeans, Adam almost began to regret the decision, sitting at the bar with Lawrence, who was noticeably quiet and hadn't said much on the subject since he'd first suggested it. In fact, he seemed to only have come along because Adam asked him. The older man had put in very little effort, dressed in a slightly creased version of what he wore the night before. He didn't know why Lawrence was so weird tonight, but he was looking not only to celebrate, but also to lift his spirits, by feeding him spirits. He himself wasn't totally thrilled with going out to a public place, but for once at least he had the upper hand and had chosen the venue. Now it was his turn to do the awkward questioning.

The place was called _The Gutted Pike_ , an old building with a local fishing theme.

“You think people here would be sick of the whole fish thing, by now,” said Adam as he took his first sip of the resident ale.

“It's their livelihood, Adam,” responded Lawrence, taking his glass in a tentative hand, feeling the coldness against his sweaty palm. “Plus, it's mostly for the tourists. Which is why it is so empty.”

Adam nodded; there only appeared to be a small number of people there aside from the proprietor. At first, the few older men and women sat in dark corners were not seen, making the place look more like a ghost town. “Kinda quiet.”

“It gets busy on week days,” said Lawrence tensely.

The beer was pretty weird tasting to Adam's tongue. He was used to the odd bottle or two when he got chance, he'd not had beer from a pump before. It took him a while to get used to the purity. He stole a glance at the man sitting next to him. Lawrence was hunched over slightly, hands resting tightly together on the bar. “You fit right in here,” noted Adam. “Is everything alright, man?”

“Yeah,” said Lawrence, looking back at him and smiling. “I just… I'm missing my family. More than ever.”

“Oh,” said Adam, surprised, and a little down. “Sorry, I hadn't realized. You don't talk about it much, so I figured you just didn't wanna talk about it.”

“No,” Lawrence sighed. “I don't regret leaving them behind: I wasn’t the best man to be around after everything that happened. I miss… the routine. Right about now I'd be getting ready to leave for home. Well, unless I took overtime, which I often did. I would go home, kiss Alison, tell Diana a story; lie about needing to go back to work, see a _friend_ , then go back to work. I was a mess.”

“I guess…”

“What kind of man does that?” Asked Lawrence, staring down at his hands,

Adam shrugged. “Maybe it was for the best then—Alison leaving.”

“I know it was,” said Lawrence, firmly. “But I still miss it, Adam. It's hard to explain.”

“No, I get it,” said Adam, shuffling in his seat. “You were an asshole. It's hard getting over being that kind of person.”

“I still can't believe, looking back, how low I'd sunk. Fucking hell, I was a total creep.”

“Yep,” chuckled Adam, touching Lawrence's arm. “You're not alone there.”

Lawrence looked at the hand on his arm and then to Adam. He smiled and tried to think of happier things, less depression for the both of them.

“Remember when…” Adam paused. “When I took that shock, and you thought I was faking?”

Lawrence raised a brow, suspiciously, “yeah…”

“I wasn't faking,” grinned Adam.

Lawrence shook his head and sighed, “I know that, Adam. I was there. I was shocked too, in case you forgot. Why in the hell does that matter?”

“I dunno,” said Adam. “Just thought, that if you'd have known me since then, as you do now, you wouldn't have thought I was faking. Would you?”

“Adam,” Lawrence swallowed. “I did not think you were… _faking_. Exaggerating maybe, but not faking. I just… did not want to admit what was going on. I suppose I was in denial. I've learned from that, believe me. I don't deny that I've done some bad things, and I don't deny that a lot of people, namely Alison, would be better off without me. But, I can't stop loving them, and I do miss them.”

Adam understood. He wasn't trying to suggest anything by bringing up the bathroom again, but he thought it was funny how things change, how people change. He felt like he had changed, since yesterday alone he felt more focused. Day by day he was getting better, capable of living as a human being and not a rat, doomed to live.

An hour later, they had moved away from the bar, where a small crowd had developed; many people, workers had come to spend the last day of the weekend in a quiet night. Some nodded polite greetings to Lawrence and his friend, but Lawrence was the first to disperse from the group and find a booth in a dark corner.

“Looking to get me alone?” Joked Adam, nudging him in the side. Adam was on his second drink by that night—a bottle, which he preferred—and Lawrence was still nursing his first, only about half the way through. By now Adam was loose, and smiling much more, frowning almost not at all, but Lawrence was doing quite the opposite. Adam wanted to ask him what was wrong, wanted to bring it up, but he didn't want to fuck up with his own mood.

“Oh, yeah,” said Lawrence, rolling his eyes. _How little you know_.

“You're not drinking much,” noted Adam, downing a mouthful.

“So, you've noticed?” Asked Lawrence with a quirk of his brow.

“No, I mean I get it,” he added, putting down his bottle and leaning back, swiping his hair to the side with his fingers. “You don't wanna get… dizzy. Otherwise what good will that do? You can barely walk as it is, and that's not an _old guy_ joke either.”

Lawrence smiled and patted Adam's hand from across the table. “It's alright Adam, you don't need to worry about me. Please, enjoy yourself. I'm not a big drinker—I just like the company.”

“Jeez,” Adam chuckled. “Got me blushing here, man.”

He laughed briskly and finally picked up his drink and there caution to the wind, drinking down a good half of what remained, grimacing as he did so before carefully slamming the glass back down on the table and letting out a sigh of relief. “See? I can drink.”

Adam grinned in amazement. “Yeah, I can see that. I'm… actually impressed. For a rich guy you can down it pretty well. Maybe a little too well. Didn't hide a flask of whisky in a patient when you were cutting them up did you?”

Lawrence saw the wink, and the wicked glint in the younger man's eyes and couldn't help but chuckle at that. “You have a depraved imagination,” he said with a shake of his head.

“A few girlfriends have said that before,” he snorted.

They continued drinking, and Lawrence started to feel the effects hit his head. After the initial showmanship of finishing his first drink, he accepted Adam's request that he get himself another, also switching to a more manageable bottle. He took it slow, but he did drink, here and there as conversation called for it. He found himself drifting closer and closer to Adam; staring at his hands, his eyes, his mouth. Aware of his straying, Lawrence would frequently try and change the subject before he fell in to his old dreamlike state of gazing and imagining all those things those lips of his could do.

“…so then the patient says: I don't know, but I think my ass is ticking.”

For a moment, Lawrence floundered as his senses returned to normality and he came back to Adam with a blank expression.

“You don't get it?” Adam chuckled. “Alright. He wasn't a _real_ gynaecologist… he lost his watch in her ass—stupid, I know, but I'm running out of doctor gags, man. Gimme a break.”

Lawrence laughed quietly, “it's alright Adam, it was a good joke… in a way. I'm just a bit too refined for that kind of humor,” he winked.

“Fuck off,” laughed Adam, leaning on one elbow. “It was a shitty joke and you just don't wanna hurt my feelings… and you are not that refined, man… living with an angry sponge with a depraved imagination—what will the ladies think?”

“I like living with you, Adam,” said Lawrence, honestly, capturing the younger man's attention. “ _Fuck_ what they think.”

“Wow,” Adam laughed with nervousness, shyly looking down. “You know, you don't say fuck that often, but when you do…”

Lawrence smiled. “No. The trouble is, you say it so often that it's lost all meaning.”

“Maybe, but you say it with such conviction,” said Adam, impressed. He leaned back and stuck his feet out under the table, nudging at Lawrence's in a playful manner. He was rather drunk by this stage, as to be noted. “I swear, if I was a girl, I'd be seriously turned on right now… no wonder you got so many girls on the side.”

Lawrence felt a stab of pain at that comment, which overshadowed the arousal. He disliked Adam thinking he was a promiscuous fiend who preyed on girls. He recognized Adam's slight admiration in his tone. He seemed to be _impressed_ by his cheating. However, there was also a hint of sadness there, likely stemming from Adam's own involvement in the situation.

“Not that many girls,” Lawrence muttered, taking one last mouthful of beer.

Noticing Lawrence's evasiveness, Adam didn't follow up the thought, and joined Lawrence in finishing his drink, swallowing as much as his body could handle. “Time to go?”

“What about you?” Asked Lawrence, leaning back. “Do you want to leave?”

Adam was already standing by the time he asked, and sort of, did a double-take. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “I think we've both had-had enough. Plus, I should probably stop before you start looking fuckable, you know?”

Lawrence laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, dear. Better not let that happen. Okay, let's go.”

Agreeing with the mutual need to change scenery, Adam helped Lawrence up out of the tight squeeze and already, as soon as he stood, Adam felt the dizziness strike him. Sitting down he felt fine, standing, his head inflated like a balloon, filled with beer. It was weird. He ended up leaning on Lawrence more than he did on him.

Determined not to look too ridiculous, Lawrence straightened Adam up, got one arm around his waist and the other heavily on his crutch. Adam was swaying but he was otherwise stable. Lawrence did most of the work getting out of the bar, however, as the crowds were more voluminous as time went on.

It was recently dark outside; the sun was fading out behind the houses.

“Whoa, man,” chuckled Adam. “I-I think, I think you're drunk, look—y-you can't even… can't even stand up without wobbling, and… shit.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Lawrence, using Adam's body to support his own unsteady weight. “I know, Adam. Be quiet now, and we can get home faster.”

Adam was happy; it was a weird, floaty happy that seemed so unreal yet at the same time completely real. He felt Lawrence's warm, supporting arm around him, his breath on his neck, and it felt nice—not in a sexual way, because he didn't feel that way about his friend—what Adam felt was more akin to just pure happiness. He hadn't felt this way for a long time, and alcohol aside, he was more than happy on this night in particular, to let Lawrence lead them home.


	18. Lust

After their return to the house, Lawrence was relieved.

Adam had become drowsy and put up not one speck of argument as the older man led him up the stairs. The lights were off and the door locked, there was no reason to disturb anyone with anything further this night. They were both tired, and Adam was still clinging to Lawrence all the way up the stairs and only let go of him the moment he was laid down on the bed—the same bed they had shared only the night before. It was an odd arrangement, and he didn't quite know how to tell himself that he was happy to do it, so he just shut up and laid down compliantly.

It was endearing. There was nothing else Lawrence could do but sit there and watch as a drunken Adam writhed around on the bed trying to take off his clothes, ruffling up the bed and getting himself in to a tangled mess.

“Adam, for christ’s sake,” he sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “Just… forget about that and go to sleep.”

“Nah-uh,” chuckled Adam. “If I do that, you'll do it for me when I'm out, and I'll wake up… freaking out that you did that, and I'll probably have to punch you… or steal your crutches. No bad touchy time for Doctor Gordon tonight…”

“Whatever, Adam,” said Lawrence, resigned. He strained to lift his legs on to the bed and lie back with his eyes closed but mind all-too aware of the shifting and struggle right next to him. He was tempted to just roll him up in blankets and tell him to shut up, but he decided it was best to just stay the course, and see what happened. Besides, he was too tense, being laid next to Adam and all to dare interfere.

Eventually, Adam managed to remove his shirt, and in the process he had become irredeemably embarrassed by his childish tossing and turning and so he kicked off his shoes and buried himself under the sheets. It was nice, he decided. He felt safe, like he was in a bubble world where no one could get to him. The steady breathing of the man next to him helped him drift off to sleep not long after; though he did get too hot under there and so threw the sheets down to reveal just his head and an arm which lay slung down at an angle on his chest.

Lawrence didn't sleep. That is, he didn't sleep in the conventional way; he kept falling asleep for short bursts of time only to awaken, startled, like he was missing something. Work, probably. For so many years he had been sleep deprived, always ready to jump out of bed at the first ring of his phone. This time there was no phone, no emergency. It left a vacant hole in him that he hadn't the first clue of how to fill. With sleep as restless as his, minutes were vital and meant everything. Every precious minute he spent in dreamland he clung to, thankful that he even got that much. He couldn't stop thinking about Adam, either—that didn't help, and when he awoke, sweating and filled with dread, his whole leg on fire, he would look over to the man next to him. He saw the lines of torment on his face too, but it was a such a beautiful face, Adam's, and reminded him of the fragility of man—something superficially strong, but vulnerable at heart. When he looked at him, he was home.

It was he second time—the second consecutive day—that Adam had awoken next to Lawrence, and he actually felt okay about that. It was a laughable concept, but he was pretty drunk the night before, and he was honestly surprised that they had only _slept_ together. He remembered being awfully close with Lawrence at some point. He didn't even bother doing the old cliché routine of sitting up and assessing the situation; they'd done nothing, of that he was certain. The only thing they'd done was drink… quite a lot, by his standards, and then sleep. He was almost disappointed. Then again, waking up with a raging headache did a lot to dissuade his usual morning hard-on from its unconscionable effects on his brain. It was a worse pain than the day before, but even in hearing his own heartbeat throbbing through his ears like a fist pounding his skull, he preferred to just lie there. It was better than doing something weird… like throwing up on the floor, which he was afraid he'd do it he tried to move.

When Lawrence woke (or rather, when he decided to tell his body that enough was enough) there was a heavy atmosphere hanging over him. He was afraid to move, afraid to break the spell of illusion he had been casting over himself. He was imagining he and Adam as lovers, partners. It was wonderful, and warm, and pure fantasy, but it helped him sleep, added to the fact that the man himself was laid there with him, half undressed and needy. Most of all, he didn't move, because he couldn't—his legs felt heavy and alien. This happened: he awoke with the feeling of the wheelchair still attached to him, and his body had difficulty coping with the adjustment. The only way he knew how to solve it, was to wait it out and focus his mind and body as one being again.

“Hey, man,” muttered Adam.

From beside him, Lawrence felt Adam stirring, turning, and moving on his side to face him. He was much closer now that he swore he could feel his body heat brushing against him. If he didn't know better, he would have almost believed his bizarre fantasy to have taken flesh. However, when he looked at Adam, he saw that he was in a noticeably haggard, face a little rough with a light scruff. He looked tired, and he looked his age for once.

Adam didn't know what he was doing. He thought maybe Lawrence would take sympathy, stroke his hair, pet his head, do all those tenderly doctor-things that he was good at. Would be _nice_ , he thought idly. He was feeling a lot of self-pity.

“Please,” groaned Lawrence. “If you are a morning person, at least tell me you want coffee, so I can get some too.”

“No,” said Adam, rolling back on to his back. “Hell, no. I'm not a morning person. At all.”

It didn't take a genius to know that Adam was suffering, and he was too. It filled him with a need to nurture him, but his own stern rigidity stopped him from doing so. “Poor you,” said Lawrence gruffly, with a hint of genuine sympathy behind the scathing callousness. “Do you want to get up?” Asked Lawrence, himself moving to a sitting position.

“Yeah,” Adam said with sarcasm. “About the only thing _up_ right now is my dick. I'm staying down, if it's all the same with you.”

Lawrence startled. It wasn't that unusual for Adam to mention something so personal, but it was a something on this occasion that really got to Lawrence. He did _not_ need to know that the man had an erection right now, _and where is his hand anyway_? He got it. Adam was a man, same as him, and he was considerably younger than him. Of course he had urges that needed to be fulfilled, he only wished that Adam might let him watch. But he needed to stop that kind of thinking; he was on dangerous territory, as it seemed he was every morning waking up with him. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered: “I should have known better than to let you sleep with me again,” he groaned.

Adam scoffed, “whatever—you love it, really.”

“I must do,” said Lawrence in half-jest. He really didn't know why he wasn't getting himself the hell out of there before he—or Adam—did or said something irreparably damaging to their friendship. It was madness, surely, total madness. The worst part was, he wanted to hear more. He wanted to hear Adam talk about his body and its usually private functions. He didn't want to get up because he wanted to reach under the covers where Adam was hiding his supposed protruding penis, and stroke it. _Lawrence… what are you getting yourself in to now_? He asked himself.

Why Adam stayed was his headache (mostly), he didn't want to. I've until Lawrence went no brought him some painkillers or something. Then again, maybe that was selfish. Maybe he should get up and get some himself? Nah. Annoying Lawrence until he left the bed voluntarily was a more mature option he figured. “Really, I could use the _alone_ time, if you know what I mean…”

Sometimes Adam was ruder than reason. He probably knew that, too, but Lawrence wasn't going to leave him alone. Adam obviously had needs, like every other human being on the planet, and he did feel a pang of guilt; he'd hardly ever let him out of his sight since he found him. That had be have been overbearing. Lawrence _liked_ being around him; he actually enjoyed his company immensely. Did Adam feel that way? He must have needed moments where he was alone, and Lawrence needed, _really_ needed to stop thinking about this, right now…

“Why don't you just use the shower?” Suggested Lawrence with a fake-ass politeness.

“…and waste this lovely opportunity?” Adam had one hand behind his head and one hand under the sheets, fingertips sliding up and down the bare expanse of his stomach. “Besides, my fucking head will probably ruin the mood if I tried to move…”

“Oh, what a shame,” growled Lawrence, now fully sat up. He liked to think he was doing a good job at deflecting his interest in Adam's affairs with stony sarcasm, but he really was struggling. His face was flushed, his hands sweated, his stomach in knots. Luckily Adam's talent at photography and seeing people deeply through a lens did not extend that well to his own eyes, because Lawrence was masking his arousal well. And then, “when was the last time you masturbated, Adam,” he swallowed, closed his eyes—totally ruined his façade.

Adam let out a single sharp sound of surprise. “And how the hell is _that_ any of your business?”

“I'm a doctor,” bargained Lawrence feebly.

“Yeah, a doctor of Oncology,” laughed Adam, still a little in shock. “Not a doctor of penis—things and jerking off! What does it matter, anyway?”

“Urologist,” muttered Lawrence, forehead in his hand. “It matters, Adam, because it's health-related; I imagine, if you haven't done it for a while, it might help to relieve some pressure, cool you off a bit.”

“Why are we even talking about this,” exclaimed Adam, sitting up and immediately regretting it, laying back down.

It was pretty funny; he aimed to make Lawrence uncomfortable, yet somehow Lawrence had turned the tables on him. If Lawrence hadn't been so aroused himself, he would have left and let Adam do his business. But he was aroused. Extremely.

“Fine,” sighed Adam in defeat. “I haven't done it in, oh, let's say since before even I was locked up by that crazy bastard. Nice. Thanks for bringing that up, Lawrence. Now I feel like shit again.”

Lawrence chuckled, “I'm sorry, Adam,” he said.

Adam was sorry. He had to be made to think about that fucking horrible event again and again. It reinforced the fact that it seemed to haunt every aspect of his life outside the bathroom. Why the hell did it have to ruin everything? He couldn't even enjoy some sexually tense banter with Lawrence without it being brought up again.

“No,” said Adam suddenly. “Seriously, fuck this.”

Raising his brow, Lawrence was vaguely downtrodden, but entirely curious as to Adam's sudden outburst, he watched with a near-hypnotic tenacity as Adam fumbled erratically under the sheets, lifting his hips up, squirming around. His mouth went completely dry at the coming realization that Adam was pulling down his jeans and probably his boxers too, right there next to him. Lightheaded, Lawrence's fingers began to twitch with excitement. Was Adam really going to do this, right in front of him?

“Adam, what…”

Adam didn't care anymore—he really didn't. He'd had enough of his life being dictated by a dead man. He wasn't a prisoner anymore and he could do whatever the fuck he wanted, and that was exactly what he was going to do—Lawrence be damned, _he can sit there and watch if he wants, fuck it_. He grabbed himself by the base of his shaft. It had softened but not entirely. Using both hands he closed his eyes and just held himself, feeling suddenly very naked, and very foolish. But his pride wasn't something easily stopped. If it spited Jigsaw, he was going to go through with it. It wouldn't take long, he figured; a few strokes, since it had been so long. He didn't know why he didn't just wait, or do it in the shower, but a part of him _wanted_ Lawrence to see—wanted a witness. _Look at me, I'm still alive and I'm enjoying myself._

“Got a problem?” He asked Lawrence with a gratuitous smirk on his face.

Lawrence was stunned. He knew Adam was brazen, but holy shit, this was so surreal, like it had come out of one of his own deviant fantasies. Was Adam toying with him? _He has to know_ , he found himself telling himself. He found himself staring, open mouthed like a dying fish gasping for air. No words were coming out, and he could hardly breathe. It was perfectly natural, what Adam was or wasn't doing, but it was just so unlike him to do something so unabashedly sexual. He made comments, jokes, sure—even mentioned his sexual activity with a bar of soap at one point—but Lawrence never actually expected him to be quite that desperate for it. If he was a lesser man he might have tried to take advantage of the situation.

It had been so long since Adam had done this, he almost forgot the feeling. His cock was painfully hard and point proven, he felt more than a little bashful. He really felt like he could do it a few seconds ago, but feeling his organ in his hands… it was something quite different. Scary, even.

“Shit,” he grimaced, and let his hands drop by his sides.

Again, stunned, Lawrence furtively glanced from the activity under the bed sheets, breathing haggard, to Adam's face. His eyes were open and he was staring straight up at the ceiling. If he didn't know better, from experience as a man, he would have said he had climaxed, but he knew that couldn't be. For one, Adam had hardly touched himself from what little he could see, why he'd barely even got his hands around. Was he really that sensitive? He doubted it. He wanted to ask Adam why he stopped, but he suspected he knew.

The reality hit Adam. Spite aside, he was about to jerk off in someone else's bed, in someone else's _company_ , in someone else's house. It was pretty awful of him to think he might let him get away with it.

“That was fast,” joked Lawrence, masking his nerves.

Adam sighed his approval through his nose and glanced at the other man. He was practically looming over him, hands placed flat on the bed and his legs sort of hanging off the other side of the bed. He began to theorize certain things about the man at that point.

“Still longer than what you could manage,” retorted Adam. “I haven't done it,” he confessed. “Can't really go with you watching, man—no offence, but I don't usually do it for an audience unless they're throwing me twenties.”

Now Lawrence laughed, “jesus—this isn't a high school urinal Adam, if you want to masturbate, go ahead. We're both adults here. You act like I don't know what goes on—I've probably seen more penises than you have taken pictures.”

Adam sneered, “gross.”

“I mean,” corrected Lawrence. “I had to examine a lot of men, for _all_ types of cancers, so yes, I've handled a lot.” He looked at Adam then, looking at him. He was plainly not amused. “I guess this isn't helping, you, with your, err…”

“My hard-on?” Finished Adam, helpfully. “Oh, no… I just love hearing about nut cancer and surgery when I have a boner, man. Fuck you.”

Lawrence smiled apologetically. He decided it was probably best if he left Adam alone for a while now—he'd been hanging around a little too long for it not to raise alarms. That's if, if he hadn't totally killed the mood for him. He shifted about and made his move, just as Adam grabbed his arm, loosely. He looked back down at Adam, curious. His face was unreadable.

“Why do you care anyway? If I didn't know you so well right now, I could swear that you want to jerk me off,” he said, dropping his arm.

“Adam,” said Lawrence, rolling his eyes. “Then you don't know me _that_ well, do you?”

They both stopped in that moment; caught in a dual-freeze where neither man knew what to do.

Lawrence closed his eyes. He couldn't believe what he'd just said. His brain just went dead, he could think of no way out of this, no way to redeem himself from this mess. He could feel the old idiot excuses he'd used to explain his a sense to Alison. She was no idiot she knew he was lying. There was no point lying to Adam either, as he was certain he could see right through his charade.

Adam's eyes went wide; he really did just mean it as a joke. Why the hell would a man like Lawrence _want_ to have anything to do with his sexual needs? It made no sense and it really didn't look like it was going to be followed up with a joke. It didn't sound like sarcasm. In fact, Lawrence sounded rather angry when he said it, like he had been wanting to say _something_ and he was tired of the run-around.

“Wh-what did you just say?” Asked Adam, stuttering.

“Uh,” Lawrence faltered, sucking in his lips. “I guess, what I meant was…”

“Oh, no,” chuckled Adam. He reclined back. “No, no, no… don't even try to get out of this—you know what you meant.”

“Before you jump to any conclusions…” He couldn't believe it—Adam was grinning at him like a wolf, only with a more menacing intent. He didn't  _seem_ all that angry, but looks could be deceptive. He didn't trust that Adam found it as funny as he seemed to make out. He reminded himself, yet again, to watch what he said in front of him.

“Hah, you are such a liar, man,” laughed Adam.

“No,” insisted Lawrence. “I just—” Lawrence was stopped by Adam's waving hand.

Adam was having fun with this. Lawrence's slip of the tongue was a hangover cure if he'd ever had one. It wouldn't take much taunting to make the older man's face red; he knew that. Sure, he might have gone easy on him if it wasn't such a golden opportunity. He was not going to miss this chance. He decided it was best to go for full-out vulgarity, something that Lawrence was the most unseated by. “You just thought I have a pretty nice-looking cock and you thought you'd put it in your mouth for a little while?”

There was only so much that Lawrence could take. Adam was teasing him, trying to make things worse, for fun. He could not focus, on anything. His vision blurred with excitement and fear as soon as he saw the shape of Adam's hand go back under the sheets and perform a blatant obscene gesture. If his mouth was dry before, it welled with fluid now. He practically salivated, imagining all the things Adam could do with that stiff member. He tried to fight, he really did, but his endurance had reached its limit, and he'd run dry of wit thanks to Adam's incessant tormenting.

“Yes,” he said quickly, trancelike, the hoarse voice coming, he barely recognized as his own but as something raw, and more _animal_.

Adam hadn't expected that… at all. He was totally thrown off balance. One minute they were joking (at least he thought they were joking) about Lawrence wanting Adam because he was hanging around while Adam was describing his erection, the next Lawrence was looking at him, with such raw _hunger_ that he was actually floored. It kinda scared him, actually. At the same time… he was very, deeply, awakened. “No shit? Fuck me, I knew we were spending _way_ too much time together, but _really_?”

“Yes. Really,” said Lawrence.

“What the actual fuck, Lawrence,” he laughed, with considerable nervousness; he didn't know if Lawrence wasn't still just fucking with him. He hoped he was. If he wasn't, Jesus… all he knew was completely annihilated, all his expectations and perceptions were dazed and confused. “I knew you were fucked up, but wow.”

Lawrence sighed. It was out. He was burning up, he could feel his face on fire and a shaky arousal scraping its nails down his back. It was the worst feeling in the world; he wished he'd kept his mouth shut like he'd been telling himself to do all this time. He damned himself for his weakness—again he found himself giving in to his desires, like a fool. What scared him the most was Adam's stunned silence. He feared the breaking of their friendship more than anything, but damn him, he refused to give in now.

“Adam,” he continued, voice no longer guttural and rough, but meek and careful; tiger to kitten. And like a purring feline, he clawed his way along the bed, and rested a very shaky hand in the man's lap. “If it's what you need, I-I will…”

“Oh, no,” laughed Adam. “No—no way… there's no way!”

Just what the hell had gotten in to Lawrence anyway? Adam had scrambled back and away from Lawrence's hand like it was a claw about to emasculate him. He sat there with his back to the wall, literally and figuratively, knees drawn up to his chest. It was just so _weird_ , but it also kind of explained a lot; the touching, the constant accompaniment. Then again, he thought maybe it was partially his fault.

“I will,” swallowed Lawrence, he kept his distance, not wanting to scare him off any further away. “If you want me to. I'll do it, for you.”

“Was this because of me?” Adam panted. “I mean—you're not gay right? So what the hell is this? Am I just that irresistible, or what? _You saved my life; I'll suck your cock_. Ugh, what the fucking-fuck… I just… I don't know what to say right now, man, I really don't.”

“That's okay,” said Lawrence, unable to look directly at him. “I know. It's… not normal, weird, and strange—whatever—just… ask yourself: would it really be so bad? I know you haven't… done anything, for a long time. Well, neither have I, and I don't know, maybe I'm just a little crazy because of it and still a little drunk, but I'm willing to do this for you—you've done so much for me, and I feel as though… well, I've given you nothing in return, not really. In the end we don't have to talk about, we don't even have to _say_ anything. I just… Adam.”

That was it, thought Lawrence. He'd really buried himself and nailed the coffin lid down. Adam knew everything now, every sick, depraved little fantasy Lawrence had been having over him. He felt queasy, tense, and he wouldn't have minded if a hefty distraction came by to stop him before he _did_ anything. He wished for it, because he knew, deal on the table, he didn't have the guts to walk away. He never did.

Adam asked him, “Have you ever… you know?”

“No, Adam,” said Lawrence like it was obvious. “I never have.”

“Then how do—”

“Adam, come on,” he interrupted. “I'm a man, I know what to do.”

“Yeah, you say that now,” Adam shook his head. “I _guess_ … if you're willing, and we don’t have to ever bring it up again…”

Lawrence's breath caught in his throat.

“…okay,” said Adam, as casually as he could manage. “Just, don't fucking bite.”

Lawrence couldn't breathe, he actually couldn't breathe; he thought he might be having a heart attack. Adam had said _okay_. He had said _okay_ , like it was no big deal, like he didn't care, but Lawrence could see the nervous apprehension in his eyes, and hear it in the undertone. He didn't appear to be joking either; there wasn't a hint of a smile. He would have liked Adam to _want_ it, more than be pressured to let him, but there was no turning back now. Adam had agreed to let Lawrence bring him to orgasm, and Lawrence was utterly terrified—he didn't know what to do, where to put his hands, whether to touch him or not. He was a mess, but he badly wanted to taste him, he wanted to bring pleasure to him and to be one in feeling the pulse of climax as he ejaculated in his mouth.

Confusion played on Adam's senses like a jutting probe in his brain; was Lawrence gay? Was _he_ gay? He told himself not to think about it. Who turns down a blowjob? As long as Lawrence didn't get too… touchy, reminding him that he was there, he imagined he could get his rocks off quickly and to get it over with. It was the most ill thought out agreements to sex he'd ever not-signed. _Why not_? He thought. He closed his eyes and let his body slide back down to a laying position. He put his hands behind his head and took a deep breath. Let it out. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. He could do this, but could Lawrence?

Lawrence didn't know what he was doing. That much became awkwardly obvious the way he slowly, tentatively pulled his knees under him. He swore that if his moronic foot didn't start to work properly, he'd rip the thing off—it would be worth it. He moved to lay across the bottom of the bed, and carefully began to tug town the sheets with one hand while he rested on his other. Jesus, he couldn't do this. It was so wrong, so illicit. He didn't want Adam this way (he did), he wanted to kiss him and hold him and to wake up every day next to him the way someone did when they were in love. This wasn't how he imagined it to be for their first time. It saddened him, but there was no way he'd disappoint Adam now.

“Man,” Adam said exasperated. “Just… here.”

In a flash, Adam had pulled off the sheets, and given Lawrence the first sight of his penis; considerably softened by comparison to what it had been just minutes earlier, he imagined.

Adam was not a patient man. Either this was going to happen or it wasn't. He tugged his jeans off the remainder and kicked them off the edge of the bed leaving him completely naked. He was not shy about it, but then again, what did he have to be shy about? Thinking about it, perhaps he should have been, pondering the possibility that Lawrence had been eyeing him like a piece of meat this whole time. It made him uncomfortable, sure, but how the hell was he supposed to get this over with if Lawrence was too shaky to even reach his dick? No, he wasn't a patient man.

Wide-eyed, Lawrence stared at the younger man, naked and splayed out like a feast for the eyes. So badly he wanted to lay on top, to feel that smooth perfect skin under his rough fingertips and press his face in to his chest, to hear the beat of his heart and _feel_ it. He couldn't do that though. He'd just barely been able to deflect his true intention as simple sexual frustration. How would Adam react to such intimacy? He looked at Adam's cock. Close, he was so close that he could smell the sweat and the pure smell of Adam, rising in heat against his face. He was too close, he felt. This was all moving so fast, he wanted to enjoy him, and to gaze and know every inch of his beautiful body. Placing his hands either side of the other man's slender hips, Lawrence carefully moved himself to lay over his legs, touching as little as he could. Full of nerves he glanced up at Adam. He was still in the same position with his eyes closed. He looked so wonderful. His fingers _itched_ roam up over his taut stomach and over each rib and up to that dimming scar on his upper body.

Adam exhaled, trying to relax.

When Lawrence imagined doing this, he was much less shaky, and Adam was smiling. It was not at all like he imagined, and he was frustrated at that. Why couldn't he get his goddamn fingers to work properly? Looking at the penis in front of him, laid across Adam's thigh… it should have been easy. It should have been as easy as those he'd handled as a doctor. But this was not nearly as clinical and he didn't make a habit of sucking off his patients. At least if he had, he'd have known how to hold it properly. As his fingers brushed against the fleshy tube, he felt it stir against him, coming back to life. It looked beautiful, pale and matching in skin tone to the rest of him. Never before had he thought male nudity as anything other than natural, but with Adam… he couldn't stop staring. He lifted his penis and cupped it gently in his palm and squeezed slightly, feeling the weight and size like he was sizing him up. It was hot, as if under the skin contained its own heat source. He did not like the idea of putting _that_ in his inexperienced mouth. He began to sheepishly pump his hand up and down, and with each slow, gratuitous movement, he felt the organ plump up and stiffen. He himself was rock hard, achingly so, in his pants, begging to be touched.

“Hurry up,” breathed Adam. “I could have finished myself by now.”

Patience was a thing Lawrence had to have; he wielded it like a glowing sceptre—the King of taking things nice and easy. It usually calmed people down. Adam was not in to that at all. He noticed that his stress levels were growing. If he didn't hurry it up, Adam might have rescinded this extremely rare allowance. He formed a loose fist around Adam and began working him up and down at a faster pace—this—this was supposed to be the easy part, he didn't dare think how he was supposed to take it to the next level. He figured Adam wasn't entirely opposed to the idea, since he'd allowed him this far, and he was erect, so it wasn't exactly unpleasant… he wondered if he'd ever have another chance. If he didn't take him in his mouth then and there, would this ever happen again? Adam might just have let him off with brining him off with his hands, but then he even said that he could do that himself. What was the point of he was offering him nothing special?

Bringing his head down, he tentatively pushed his tongue out of his mouth. It was like a child's game running through his head—daring him. A picture ran through his brain: _dressed in heavy wool; lick the lamppost, Larry_! Going forward with his tongue out, backing away, repeating the process, getting closer each time until the rough wet surface of his tongue rubbed up against he cold metal of a frozen lamppost—stuck. This was no lamppost in winter though. Adam’s hot exposed head tasted salty on his tongue.

“Jesus,” gasped Adam, pushing his hips involuntarily up on the bed. His arms had come out from behind his head and flopped out wide across the spread of the bed.

The reaction was encouraging. Lawrence didn't know whether it was because he was imagining someone else sucking him, or it just had been so long that he didn't care _who_ it was or _why_ , but he loved the little sounds he made. More brazenly, this time when Lawrence licked over the head in one full motion, he pressed both his lips, fully over the head of Adam's swollen cock. At the same time he cast his blue eyes forwards, desperate to gauge his reaction, to see the younger male contort with writhing pleasure at such a simple press of his full lips. He kept his mouth in place, and rhythmically he continued to work the flesh with one hand, and while not technically a true blowjob, Lawrence was more than happy to be able to keep his head in place just to see Adam's back arch and his chest rise and fall with a quickened pace. _He is enjoying this_ , he thought with absolute bewilderment.

“Ooh, _fuck_ ,” cried Adam.

That was it—the point where Lawrence knew there was no turning back for Adam. With his other hand he clutched the younger man's balls, and rolled them in his fingers, squeezed and tugged, sending Adam in to a series of rough _fucks_ and _shits_ , which came spilling from his lips like a mantra. His hips rocked and rolled all on their own, sending Lawrence in to an unwanted descent on his pole. His head locked in place as panic began to set in. Adam was _really_ getting in to this, he was afraid he might get carried away, lodge his cock down Lawrence's throat; dead. His hand moved from their present activities to gently press down on the squirming man's hips, calmly holding him in place while he stepped up his game. Going down on Adam was easier when he closed his eyes, and with the impressive firmness of his member, he didn't even need to hold it in place as he locked his lips tightly around his manageable girth and carefully pushed his head down.

For a guy who'd never done this before, Lawrence sure seemed to have been blessed with a new breeze of confidence. Adam hissed and clenched his fingers against the bed. He wouldn't last long—it's been too fucking long. In between his tense pleasure, Adam was starting to see and understand certain things, especially why Lawrence freaked out the morning before—the wrestling—it answered a few questions. Though he was too scared to link that, with this. He didn't want to correlate those points, and ask himself that question again when he was already aware of the terrifying answer.

Lawrence was sucking now, actually sucking Adam's cock. Passion exploded throughout his body, filling him with a wanton desire to just _swallow_ every inch of him. His inexperience kept him from doing so, but it did not stop his hand, from leaving Adam's hip and sliding down the front of his own pants. He began to fist himself furiously, leaving no room for excuses as to what exactly he was doing down there. He didn't dare ask himself what he must have looked like from the other’s point of view, if he'd had his eyes open; mouth full of Adam, hips rocking against his own hand. He must have looked like a desperate wreck, like he had in the bathroom, about to sever his limb, over the edge of sanity. He felt like it too, he felt liked he'd tripped over something that was holding him back, and he was able to do things he would have otherwise found _distasteful_ … say, self mutilation—Or sucking a guy’s cock and enjoying it. And enjoy it he did, taking in as much as his immature gag reflex could suffer; bobbing up and down, trying not to salivate too much, so slurping obscenely every time he went up and his lips lost some grip. He could taste Adam's come paint across his tongue and lips, spurring him on to the final act. He grabbed the base and balls together in one tightened fist and squeezed as his head plummeted down the full length of his shaft, all the way down until he nose was buried in wiry pubic hair.

“Oh, shit,” gasped the younger man, thrashing wildly on the bed. “Oh, f-fuck—Lawrence!”

There was no stopping Adam's orgasm; hot wet jets splashing to the back of Lawrence's throat in pent-up volume. As the head of Adam's cock hit home, he pulled off, forced in to a violent fit of coughs as semen dribbled in heavy loads from his red and swollen lips. Both his hands worked in uncoordinated synchronicity; masturbating himself to the edge and not stopping until he reached it—he may never get this chance again, he wanted to remember it—and doing the same with Adam, sending the young man crazy, further abusing the extremely sensitive organ to drive him in to a flurry of pained and pleasures screams, as high as he dared as his whole body responded to the incredible climax with blissful dynamics. Lawrence reached his orgasm in short, biting the bed between Adam's knees to muffle his helps as his own ejaculate spilled in to his hands, over his knuckles and soaking in to his pants for the second time.

The following came a few moments of mutual ecstasy, where both men enjoyed the calm before the inevitable storm—where pleasure was enjoyed while it still could be.

Awash with a guilty conscience, Lawrence was the first to react to what they'd just done. He was sticky in all the best places but his head and heart, once conflicting forces, agreed for the unfortunate occasion to berate him fiercely. He mustered up every little bit of strength he had to carefully move away from Adam, managing to be as graceless as possible; staggering from the bed and away to the bathroom. Lawrence needed to wash his mouth out, and change his clothes. Despite his actions, he loved, no— _loved_ , what they had just done, but his purer sensibilities were screaming in disgust. _How could I have done that to him, how_? He was horrified. He felt no better than a rapist, cajoling Adam in to doing something he wasn’t consenting for. But he did consent he tried telling himself. It was no good; he knew Adam only let him because he was most likely bored and horny, not because he _wanted_ to. _Jesus_.

Adam’s panic was more pronounced.

“Oh, fuck,” he said, as his eyes opened to the realization. “Oh, fuck, _fuck_ …”

By the time he heard the water running in the bathroom, he was up and out of bed, struggling with terrible nerves as he sought out his clothes. His pants were by the bottom of the bed, he battled to get his legs inside the holes without tripping, leaving his boxers on the floor—there was no time, no time!—and fumbling around for something to cover his torso. Once dressed (his t-shirt was on inside-out), Adam staggered for the door, totally and unreservedly in a state of panic. He didn’t know what he was doing, or where he was going, but he needed to get the fuck out of there and away from Lawrence. Hell, he didn’t even know why he was going, instinct maybe—his little (mostly) heterosexual world had been blown apart by a simple act of experimentation and curiosity, and he had no idea of how to feel about that. So, he did what he knew how to do best, and he ran.

Lawrence had expected an overreaction, and perhaps his own aftershock didn’t help support Adam. He was confused, too. An otherwise straight, middle-aged man lusting after a younger man and giving him oral sex… it was _madness_! He must be insane, he told himself. _Insane_. He still looked the same in the mirror, but under the skin he felt different, like he had permanently been changed somewhere deeper within, like he had in that bathroom. Someone else had broken the old Lawrence and reshaped him like clay in to a different man—that’s how he felt. Like he had been reawakened, reborn. It wasn’t a bad feeling once it set in, he even saw the beginnings of a smile appearing on the corner of his enflamed lips.

“Adam!”

Being unaware of Adam’s sudden and dramatic exit, Lawrence only grasped the scope of matters when he heard feet pounding down the stairs. He called after him again. He needed to explain, and to rationalize things. He needed to tell him that he wasn’t crazy, bored, all those things, and that he had wanted this for a long time and to calm him and tell him that he needn’t be ashamed. However, in his haste, he forgot himself and lost all footing the moment he turned away from the bathroom. Falling heavily, Lawrence grunted as he hit the tile with a thud.

At about the same time he heard the door slamming shut. Adam was leaving _him_ behind.

If Lawrence hadn’t been so worried, he might have appreciated the poetry: crawling across the bathroom floor, desperate to escape and crying for Adam, wanting _him_ not to leave. The irony was rich but it slipped him by as he crawled across to the carpeted floor of the bedroom where he was able to get a better grip. He pulled one leg under him and braced himself to lift in to an unsteady stand. His crutches were by the bed and he retrieved them with the dismal comprehension that Adam was long-gone, and unlike him, he was likely not coming back. This awareness, however, did not stop him from staggering out of the bedroom and towards the stairs. If Adam wasn’t gone, he was going to be there, and if he was not there… well, he would spend his time the way he had before Adam arrived: waiting for him to return.


	19. Born Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of an interval. Whacked this chapter out in about five hours and posted it, so it's pretty short compared to normal.

Adam missed cigarettes. It took him a whole of sixteen minutes since leaving the house to get his itching fingers on a fresh pack and a further five minutes to smoke his way through half of it. He couldn’t fathom how he’d not had the urge to smoke in over a week. Christ, he missed it more now that he actually had it. He felt shitty for picking up the habit again so soon, but fuck it, he thought: _I need it this time_.

Sure, he got a few dirty looks from passing mothers walking their children to school, but he paid no heed; there were more important things running (or not running) through his mind that needed dulling with lung-blackening toxins.

“Fuck you,” he coughed at a passing woman, only audible to himself. “And fuck you.”

It wasn’t Adam’s fault. He’d missed out on his _being a jerk_ quota and he was paying out in excess. And why not—he’d just had the shock of his life… well, _a_ shock of his life. It wasn’t helping matters that he was standing by the back of the school, chugging smoke like a runaway train. The passerby’s no doubt suspected him of trying to push shit on their kids. But he knew no better way to reduce stress—except masturbation, but he was _way_ over that now.

Eventually the time came where he had to move on, pressurized by the accusatory glares, to another corner just down the street. It turned out to be an alley, reeking of piss, and marked with unsightly graffiti. He actually appreciated graffiti art, but this was just shit. He hawked up a nice ripe one and showed just what he thought of some dude called _chadster6_ , who thought he was important enough to have his name spray-painted on a fucking wall.

“Prick,” he spat, not sure who he was even talking about anymore.

He was almost sure he was going to stop smoking and actually _think_ about what had just happened at some point (most likely when he ran out of cigarettes), but right now, he was in need of a distraction.

When he’d left the house, he’d take very little other than the clothes he was wearing and a pocket full of small change. There was no way enough remaining for him to afford a refill, but it was fine… he just needed this, one, single, pack. He was positive he’d kicked it, and this was just a well-deserved salute to his old self, but then why was he fumbling with the coins in his hand? _Just… to count… just to count—not, not to get more. I’m okay_.

“Yeah, right,” he sneered, tossing down another stub by his feet and crushing it out.

Insult to injury came when he found out that his only refuge—his shit car—that he’d left by the docks had been brutalized; every pane of glass remained in shards as yellow as his nicotine-stained fingers. He kicked the sprinkles of glass aside and ran his thumb over the mean scratches on the paint. He shouldn’t care. _Just a hunk of metal_. But he found himself inexplicably sad, and once he fumbled his way inside, and once he dusted off glass from the seat, he just sat there, and stared out, not knowing how to feel anymore. He didn’t _want_ to feel anymore. Having found nothing of value inside the car, the criminal no doubt got pissed off and tried to set fire to the seat, judging by the blackened marks there. Adam laughed at that, _hope you enjoyed wasting your time, shithead._

Adam found nothing of value in there either, so he left it and didn’t even bother calling the cops. He gave a small tip to an old man who worked there on the docks to find a ‘junkyard dude or whatever’ to come and take it for him. He seemed to understand but Adam had no doubt he probably couldn’t be trusted. Whatever, it wasn’t his problem anymore anyway.

He walked himself in to a state of confusion from then on, just walking with no goal or aim like he had his whole life. It was fine, though, it kept him busy and he had the few remaining smokes left in his pocket for backup. The docks still stank like hell to him, so he beat it as far away as he could and just kept going. Nothing made sense in this world where he was somehow miraculously alive, yet so dead inside. It was bullshit, he told himself of all the good times he had, but they all paled and became _another_ man’s memories. Now, he didn’t even have the little pieces of past to cheer him up, but again, it all served to cloud his brain with more thoughts that weren’t about _that_. There was no way he was going to think about it, nope, never.

By the time he just couldn’t walk any further, the sun was going down.

“Good job, Adam,” he told himself as he sit by the side of the road. _Most you’ve walked since high school and you’ve accomplished even less_.

He was coughing and coughing, and coughing so much that he was almost sure he’d lost a lung or two when he’d sat down. Sparse cars passed him, but they could have thought anything of him, he just didn’t care. There was nothing in any direction, just road going ahead and behind, with wild scrubland either side, and it was a few scraps of wrecked car where he sat with his camera (the one thing he’d taken with him out of instinct and not necessity) and aimed it out towards the open nothingness of the scenery.

“Better than nothing.”

Adam took pictures of the arid wasteland before him and allowed the creeping blackness of night to slowly encapsulate him. The sun that faded over the hills gave a stunning picture to Adam of red and purple sky and dark rigid shrubbery. How many people must just pass by the simple beauty and let it slide? Adam had done that, many, many times he had to admit. He liked the gritty stuff: black and white pictures of homeless people choking on their own vomit in the gutters; buildings on fire and that kind of shit. He missed just looking at things that weren’t about chaos or metaphor, when he had innocent eyes, untainted by worldly realism. Fuelled by the need for more cigarettes, he took picture after picture, dashing around the area like a man possessed as he rediscovered this sacred, ignored place. He empathized with the Native Americans, and while there was none around, he felt a sense of magic and mysticism in the air. He would have loved to have taken pictures of a world where pollution wasn’t in every frame, every breath. This was as close as he was going to get, and while it was only a few feet from a busy highway, his camera gave the illusion of natural splendor. It was reminiscent of taking pictures of people, which Adam mainly did from the shadows. Adam saw with bitterness behind the beauty of a supermodel’s headshots; he saw the lie, and the fakeness. He almost felt like he was doing the world a service with his little undercover works, showing the darker side of humanity that was never acceptable in any popular gallery. At first, it was fine, he rather liked some of the shots, but when money started becoming a problem, the pictures mattered little to him, and he just worked for money.

That was why this little event was so special to him, eye opening. He was repairing a broken part of his life that only a week ago he would have been happy to say goodbye to, because it turned him in to a loser.

Picture after picture, it was getting darker and darker. Adam felt the chill begin to creep over him. He realized for the first time then, that he was alone, utterly alone and it everything was black and empty. When he realized this, he just stood there, in the middle of nowhere, timidly rotating in a circle. He was lost, and he was not okay with that.

All sorts of wicked superstitions began to run through the mind of this otherwise cynical and angry young man: what if something came up out of the ground and ate him? Are those black shapes alive? And what the fuck was that that just flew overhead? Breathing came fast, hyperventilation; he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t fucking breathe. He needed to get the hell away, away from the dark and back to the light, to the warmth.

He needed Lawrence.

“Just where the hell are you when I need you, anyway?” He spoke out loud, making circles when he failed at making tracks in one particular direction.

Suddenly, he didn’t even remember anymore what happened that was so outlandish that he felt he needed to run away. He didn’t need to run away, Lawrence was his safe place, somewhere to run to. Why the hell did he do that? He was close to screaming, breaking down and crying. It was coming for him. He didn’t know what, but it was coming for him. Adam ran, and ran, and ran.

Eventually, he came to a stop of his own volition. His footsteps drew slower until he was walking. _Stupid_. He pulled out a cigarette and began to smoke.

By the time dawn broke, Adam had gotten over his fear of the dark. He’d smoked his pack dry of all but one cigarette and was using the flash on his camera to light the way every few dozen steps. He was scared, still, but he knew what he had to do to get over this. He needed to go back to town.

The memories of their activities came back to Adam, and, it wasn’t that bad—he had overreacted. It wasn’t the sex part that scared him, because that was fine, more than fine. It was the loneliness. When you’re so goddamn lonely and desperate that you have to rely on your best friend to get you off, you’ve got problems. He felt like an asshole, leaving Lawrence probably worried sick. That fear was worse than the darkness, and it took precedence over which way his footprints led.

While he still was lost, he didn’t waste a single step on panicking like he usually did; he took more pictures as the sun rose, and this time when the road came in to view, he did not ignore it, because to him, it was beautiful, with as much right to exist as the plants and animals—a part of the world—and it was a beacon to him. It felt good to have conquered this little challenge all by himself, it felt like Adam was not only on the road back in to town, but the road to reclamation as well. He was ready to take back these parts of his life that had been taken from him. They were his—he wanted them back.

_Could do without the cigarettes, though_ , he thought with a sigh.

Mustering all the determination and self-control he had in him, Adam tossed the package away, and the last remaining cigarette with it and crushed it under his heel. He took a _whole_ selection of photographs of _that_ particular triumph.

It would be a long walk.

With nowhere left to run, no way of hiding, he had time to think about a few things that he’d avoided thinking about.

He no longer feared his future; photography seemed like the way to go, but he needed a way to make money. He’d fight a few other fears and get a job at the docks, because he figured it wouldn’t be too hard, and even though the smell of fish would always be disgusting to him, he relished that smell again as he found his way back home. He actually couldn’t wait for that hideous odor once again. In his free time he would take pictures, and if he could make some money with that—great. If not—too bad, but he’d at least earn his soul back.

As for Lawrence…

He didn’t know how to feel about that anymore. Was he his friend? His lover? His fuck-buddy?

_The fuck are you saying, asshole? Of course he’s your friend._

Adam knew he could count on Lawrence, and whatever shit he was going through, he could be there for _him_ as he had been there him all this time. He wanted to comfort Lawrence, but he didn’t know how—he wasn’t good at all the feelings, shit. Lawrence was good at that, though. He was a doctor, he was supposed to have _feelings_ turned off, but he was a caring person. Adam was kind of jealous actually. He was a rich doctor with a beautiful (ex-) wife and kid, even a mistress or two. So, what the hell was he thinking hooking up with Adam? It was a head-scratcher, but the more he thought about it, the more he saw Lawrence as unsatisfied and unhappy. He couldn’t have been satisfied with one woman, which was why he took other lovers. Adam wondered if he wasn’t happy with women, in general, or maybe he just got bored and wanted to try something new, because no matter how close you are to a person, you don’t just wake up thinking sucking his cock is something you might like to try today. Clearly, Lawrence was having a mid-life crisis, or something.

Or something.

_Maybe he just really likes you, you know… in that way. Oh, bullshit. Why would he? Gee, I don’t know, Adam—maybe if you’d have stuck around, you’d have been able to ask him yourself instead of being a fucking pussy. Oh, blow me… why do you think I’m going back now? Well… well, what, asshole? Well, do you really like him, you know… in that way? Who knows? Maybe I do. What then? What—you mean you don’t know? Give me a break… I just… I really don’t know. I’m Very Fucking Confused right now, all right? Back off. I’ll think about it._

A whirlwind of confusion: a mess of thoughts. He wanted to know, but he only saw the world through his eyes. Unlike his camera, his eyes knew how to lie. He could look at what was obvious, but see the depth as something different. Why was that? The camera gave an honest representation, the eyes told their own story.

When the smell hit him, he almost threw up. It was gross. He held on to his stomach, though, and powered through until he was back in town.

Somehow, he’d ended up on the other side of town, so somehow he must have gone around the whole area and on to a different road in to town. It didn’t matter though, as it was a small place and he knew he could find his way back around to where he needed to be. It was not much more lively, and in his defense, it was as though he’d not been gone at all. Though, against him, it was only just dawn so there was hardly anyone about. He wasn’t even sure what day it was anymore, or how long he’d been gone—it might have been a week, a day—it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he got back to Lawrence. It was weird: he felt like a stronger person having extricated himself from Lawrence’s open protection. He needed it, he realized. It was stupid, and a little selfish, but he needed it and it was probably a good idea for him to have some time to himself anyway. Time to think, time to reflect. It was smart, yet stupid at the same time. _Fine_. He could live with that.

Lawrence’s house looked never better when he found it, but he hesitated, and circled around a few times to get his bearing. Would Lawrence be upset? _Most likely_. Would he be relieved? _Probably_. He sighed, and stopped by a row of stores a street away. As he browsed the wares through the windows, his old habit itched again. He wanted a smoke, but didn’t. He knew he shouldn’t and he did sort of regret making the decision to crush out the pack. The pictures were probably worth it.

It was his oldschool penchant to developing photographs that had him distracting himself further. He went in search of that place Lawrence had mentioned—the stupid studio. He figured while he plucked up the courage (it was still a bit of a fault) to go home, he might as well inquire. There was a good chance he might leave his camera there while the pictures were being developed—he would have preferred to do this himself, however, he was lacking a darkroom and development chemicals. It hurt his pride a little, but he knew it was something he’d have to do eventually, especially since his roll of film was almost full. He spent the last few shots on his walk around town, taking pictures of the old buildings; in one, and old woman even kindly posed for him. She joked about whether he preferred if she took her clothes off. He smiled, and politely declined.

The placard on the door of the building read: Wharfside Studios, est. 1948 by Bartholomew Schwartz and wife Elaine; professional service with a smile.

What Adam got when he entered the building was not quite that.

The bell on the door alerted those inside to his arrival, and he cleared his throat prepared to speak to the person at the front desk, only to find that there was no one there. He was holding his camera in his hands and looked more than a little fucked up. Maybe they saw him coming and were persuaded to hide.

The front room was small, but every wall was loaded with photographs: local area and historic photographs and clippings—some neatly framed in silver and glass while others where supporting those special pieces. The shape of the place was weird, L-shaped, with a small circular table at one side with a couple of stylish modern chairs. On top of the table was an expensive-looking silver sculpture. Adam was almost afraid to touch anything for fear of breaking. One wall was bare red brick, and quite rightly so, had no pictures on it. It was a real mix, with old and new, humble and artistic all in one. Adam liked it, especially the faint odor of photographic development happening.

Just as he started letting his roaming eyes affix to specific things, a young woman appeared from behind the ornate front desk. She was extremely small, even shorter in stature than Adam himself, and was rather mousy in exterior, with thick-rimmed black glasses and her red hair tied in a bun. She gave Adam a bright smile, but she seemed to have an even bigger problem maintaining eye contact, as when she met his eyes just once, she looked away shyly and moved her small hands to the desk where she collated a stack of papers and straightened them.

“Hello sir,” she said, quietly. “How can I help you?”

Adam didn’t quite know what to say. The almost cartoonish character standing behind the desk had ducked down and mad herself busy with something back there.

“Uh, yeah,” he said clearing his throat.

“Are you freelance?” She asked from behind the desk.

Adam startled, but he had no reason to. She had seen the camera around his neck and probably assumed that since he didn’t look local, that he had come for a reason.

“Yeah, I am,” he said. “But I’m not working at the minute. I just… was wondering if someone here could have these,” he held up the roll of film he had just removed from the camera. “Developed.”

The girl smiled and nodded, “Yep, I can do that for you,” she said, almost snatching the film. “I just need to sign these… these things here.”

When the few papers were pushed in front of Adam, he had a flashback. He recognized the usual liability and disclaimer shit—it was why he started his own at-home darkroom, to avoid this—and with the pen placed on the desk, he began to fill out the appropriate details, omitting his address, since he didn’t have one. Thankfully, she didn’t ask as she filed away the film with the papers in a plastic bag. _Like an evidence bag_ , thought Adam.

“Place is quiet,” he said, trying to make use of the silence while she was busy copying down some details.

“Yep,” she said quickly. “Only me working here. My Dad doesn’t come here much—he owns the business—so I hold down the fort.”

Adam hummed, and moved to look around aimlessly.

“Some of these,” he said, pointing to some of the pictures on the wall. “Seem pretty old.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said excitedly. “My Grandparents, when they started this place, they loved taking pictures of the boats and ships that came in to harbor. Are you a picture-taker by profession?” 

Letting slip by the odd quirk of her calling photographers, ‘Picture taker’s,’ and nodded. “I used to be.”

“That’s great,” she said with a huge and joyous sigh. “Really great. I wanted to be a picture-taker, like you…”

“Adam,” he said with a weak smile. This girl… talked really fast.

“Adam,” she went on. “But I’m no good.”

_Might wanna stop calling us picture-takers, for a start_ , thought Adam.

“I can’t take a picture to save my life,” she chuckled, high-pitched. “My Dad could, but he’s retired these days and spends most of his time _far_ away from here. Some of the pictures on the wall that you see were taken by my Grandparents, or my Dad and some were taken by the people and donated. Others—are from picture-takers like you. A-are you here for that? Like, are you for hire? Because we sure could use the help.”

Adam was surprised. This girl seemed more nervous than he was. _You could use a cigarette,_ he thought with a smirk. Maybe he was here for that, he didn’t know. He didn’t know what to say. She was very excited, but at the same time, she didn’t really seem to want to directly link herself with Adam. He supposed it was good for freelancers like him.

“I guess,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I mean yes, I am looking for work… you know, if you’re offering.”

“I _am_ ,” she nodded rapidly, so fast that her glasses almost fell off. “Well, actually, there are a few local functions in town and they need photographers—for their flyers and websites, that kind of thing—they come to us, but all they get is me.”

She flapped her arms, looking like she was about to take off.

“Okay,” said Adam, remotely. “I could do that.”

“Great,” she practically screamed. “That would be such a relief! I suppose though, it depends on how long you’re going to be here, in town, because there is a pretty big workload. I’m not going to push all my work on you, but my Dad expects this stuff done, and there are like _no_ decent picture-takers in town!” She sighed, heavily. “I suppose, one of the flaws of being in the middle of nowhere…”

“Whatever,” said Adam. “I’m living here, now, pretty much. So, what you have will be doable, probably. That film that I gave you, it might be better if you have a look at it. You never know, you might hate my pictures. It happens.”

She nodded, this time more reservedly. “Hm, maybe you’re right. One man I hired, seemed fine, turned out he was a worse picture-taker than me, I mean, can you _believe_?”

“No, no I can’t,” he breathed. This was becoming irritating. She seemed like a nice girl, but there was only so much he could take. “Look, I’ll be back in a couple of days. That way you’ll have enough time to develop the photos, and review them.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, readjusting her spectacles. “And if I like them, we can talk about setting you up with some jobs. And… um, well, if you approve of my developing, you can take your pictures and pay then—no rush! So, Adam…” she smiled and held out her hand over the desk. “I am Fiona, and we shall meet again.”

“Yeah,” said Adam uneasily. She was a bit of a dork, he figured, but she seemed to know what she was doing. “Thanks.”

Shaking hands, she suddenly yelped aloud, making Adam jump on the spot.

“Oh-oh! Before you go…” she said. “You might want to give me three days, actually, I-I have a lot to do, so it will give me plenty of time to review your work and when you come in, and if you’ve made a decision, then that would be great!”

Adam nodded and smiled—her smile was pretty infections, if awkwardly so—before he left. She was just a _lot_ of work. At least there was the possibility of work on the table, and that made him feel good. He left the building as politely as he could without making it obvious that he was frankly scared of her.

Outside, he felt very refreshed, and new. There was a point in time, which he had been hoping to come across, that was pure luck and nothing else. It was by chance that he decided to enter the studio, and it was just the right time, he guessed. But whatever it was, it left him with some options. It was awfully short-notice, but what else was he doing? Procrastinating so that he didn’t have to go and explain himself to Lawrence… that was what he was doing.

“Shit,” he sighed, back up against the wall of the studio, still. “Shit, shit.

Would he understand? Would he turn him away? He was really scared.

At least he had some news to report, and maybe that would be enough. He wouldn’t lie and say he rushed out suddenly, inspired by that awesome blowjob, to go get a job, because what the fuck? No. He’d been gone for an entire day, and he’d killed enough time. Clutching his pocket one last time, to feel for the nonexistent cigarette packet, Adam checked himself, and puffed out his chest and went on his way.

 

 

There it was again, the good old house.

Adam shook his head. He was such a tool. He could have made up with Lawrence in all this time instead of wandering around like a dick. He didn’t want to waste any more time. It was pretty pathetic, he thought. It was cowardly, and he hated that. He didn’t consider himself a coward, not really. He screamed like a girl sometimes, and cried, but he was not really a coward. He faced things in his own way, in his own time. But this time he considered his actions pretty damn cowardly He couldn’t even say he was running, like from Jigsaw, to stay alive. This time, this time he was just afraid. And he had nothing to be afraid of. Despite his gruffness, Lawrence was a nice guy, and he probably made him worry, just because he was scared. Jerk.

When he got to the door, he stood still, unsure of whether to just open it or knock. He relented and went with the knock, so as to not alarm Lawrence.

He knocked several times, waited. He figured: fine, Lawrence with his one foot might have a hard time getting to the door.

He knocked again some moments later, still nothing.

Beginning to worry, Adam went ahead and tried the door. It was locked. Fucking locked. At first, a cold ache went through him. _Lawrence is in there and he doesn’t want me in there with him. He’s locked the door and he’s not coming to answer._ It was a painful thought, but it seemed like the only realistic option. The only other option was one unthinkable, but Adam couldn’t help but consider it as more knocking received no response.

_What if? No, Adam. No way. He wouldn’t. Why not? The guy’s not exactly been all that straight, lately, if you ignore the pun. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t, come on. He might have. Oh, god, what if he has? What if he got so freaked out over what happened, that he… that he…_

“Oh, shit,” he hissed; he started banging on the door. “Lawrence! Come on, answer me—are you in there! Lawrence, please! Lawrence…”

As panic became an overwhelming consumption, Adam slid to his knees in front of the door, his pounding weaker until finally he gave up trying and let the tears roll down his cheeks.

“Jesus, Lawrence,” _what have you done? What have you_ —“Oh…”

Wiping his nose on his sleeve, Adam slapped himself with a dose of reality. Of course Lawrence hadn’t. Of course he hadn’t, what the hell. Today was Monday, he reflected. Morning. Might be Tuesday. Monday or Tuesday morning… that meant Lawrence _should_ be down in his little boat, _fishing_ , or whatever it was that he did. But would he still be there? After such a weird fucking event the day before, and Adam missing? Was he _that_ okay with it all that he just… carried on, like normal? If he did, he was a stronger man than Adam realized.

It gave him no other choice: Adam had to go find Lawrence, who was now missing, although, not really. It was almost poetic, thought Adam with a bitter laugh as he picked himself up and began to follow the path. Lawrence had been missing before, and Adam found him after everyone said he was dead. He believed in himself and Lawrence above all others. Somehow he doubted there would be that much of a challenge this time around; Lawrence would be found again, working his crippled ass half to death on some miserable boat.

“Time to drag his crippled-ass home,” he hummed, jogging on his way.


	20. Truce

Winter usually passed by. It was a struggle for a starving artist to get through, but it always passed by. Adam shivered, hands in his pockets as he trudged through wet foliage; reminding himself it could be worse, and it had been worse. On some miserable occasions, he'd been on his hands and knees, on frozen wet grass, leafs stuck to his pants. They were terrible times, but he was over it now. His photographer’s intuition was switched off; only misty ghosts were to be seen, blanketing the town. Even if he had more film to put in his camera, he wouldn't have bothered himself with using it on this unhappy scene. His stomach hurt in anticipation of what was about to come; more painful still as he rounded the corner of the fishing warehouses and came in to view of the docks.

The lights from the boats flickered in the fog, looking like an old horror movie. Adam stopped and looked out. It seemed none of the boats were leaving the docks today; the fog conditions made sailing unsafe. This was Adam's chance to get to Lawrence's boat: The Little Diana. There was, however, some lingering doubt. Doubting his certainty, the man's feet refused to move. He was scared, and there was no shame in admitting that. It was hard the first time, coming to find Lawrence in this creepy-ass place, filled with doubt and uncertainties, fuelled solely by a scrap of hope. This time, Adam was scared for a different reason. He didn't want to see the disappointment in his eyes, nor hear the pitying tone in his voice while he talked to him like a child.

Inhaling deeply, Adam stepped forward and didn't stop. He had to face this thing, whatever this thing was, while he still could, and he doubted it would be a very pleasant affair.

Lawrence was there; he could at least breathe a little easier on that fact. He was sitting there on the same old rusted chair, wearing a dark green raincoat and a woollen hat, looking out across the swaying water. His posture was reminiscent of a man contemplative, and it was somehow funny to Adam, who sniggered quietly. It was enough for the other man to hear, and so he turned his head to look over his shoulder.

He was surprised to see Adam there, but he was also weary of him.

“Hey, Lawrence,” said Adam sheepishly. “Do you, er, mind if I climb aboard? Or do I have to call you Captain, first? Because I don't know if I can do that without throwing up in my mouth.”

Lawrence nodded in agreement, his smile laden with caution.

Unsteadily, Adam set foot on the ramp and grabbed hold of the handrail. He really hated this boat. Why couldn't Lawrence become a _normal_ hermit and live is a wood cabin somewhere in the woods? That he could deal with. He was a city boy, and all of this water was seen as something only useful to drown yourself in when you finally reached bottom. He didn't like it, and it didn't even have the pollution necessary to cause fatal poisoning—what use was it? Fishing? What the fuck, Lawrence? Getting over his unease was something he tended to do with as much panic, swearing, and sarcasm as possible. However, he was far too nervous to successfully exercise any of them. Which, told much about how truly difficult he thought this encounter would be. He moved over to Lawrence, and carefully leaned forward on the edge of the boat, next to where Lawrence also leaned.

Lawrence looked away from Adam and back out to the fog.

What might have been going through Lawrence's mind worried Adam. He didn't know what to do. He figured that since he was scowling at him, he wasn't that mad at him, which was a relief, of sorts. Of course, he still didn't know exactly how to get around to the point; he'd never been in this position before. To accentuate his awkwardness, Adam would periodically rub the back of his neck or shuffle on the spot; little rituals his body did all on their own.

“I, um,” began Adam. “I'm sorry I took off yesterday…”

Christ, even saying that felt weird, heavy on his tongue. Here he felt at fault, and his apology came from a place he knew existed but rarely used, he regretted not dusting it off sooner, to make his words at least sound as honest as he wanted them to.

Lawrence smiled, briefly, and it was streaked with guilt.

“No, no, Adam,” hushed Lawrence. “You had every right.”

“Did I?” Replied Adam. “Gee, because I thought I was being a drama queen.”

Lawrence scoffed, “that sounds perfectly normal for you.”

“Oh, fuck off,” sneered Adam.

Lawrence smiled, but kept his distance. A simple arm around the shoulders… did not seem appropriate anymore, not after what happened. mad at him. he was scowling at him, he wasntk out to the fog.s a wood cabin somewhereing there on a mad at him. he was scowling at him, he wasntk out to the fog.s a wood cabin somewhereing there on a So badly did he want to, too. He wanted to put his arm around him, and be the same old Lawrence, Doctor Gordon, but he didn't really feel like either of them. As a man, he cared, and wanted to comfort Adam. As a doctor, he warned himself that such contact would be too personal. There was, however, that other side of him, the side that wanted and craved closeness for his own needs, closeness because he loved him. Yes, loved and loved him desperately. It was because he loved him that he was prepared to divulge this truth to Adam, when the conversation came around. First though, he wanted to stop Adam from his nervous blabbering.

“Adam,” he said, huskily. “You don't need to… beat around the bush, alright? Let's just… get this out of the way, so as to prevent any misunderstandings.”

“Misunderstandings?” Laughed Adam, nervously. “Oh, yeah, sure… I guess I just _misunderstood_ your mouth ending up on my cock, sure. Okay.”

Lawrence winced, “don't be crass, and that's not what I meant…” he said, gently.

Adam's levity had run dry, leaving them both in an unfinished state. He didn't think Lawrence would be entirely easy to talk to about this, but he didn't think his sense of brutal mocking would go so dry, so soon. It had. His defensive walls were cracked. It seemed that every muscle in his body tensed in those moments; his fingers gripped the guardrail tight, and his nervous twitches abruptly stopped. He was ready for a verbal berating, like the way someone in a position of power did to those in lower standing to themselves. However, in his head, he worked it out… if Lawrence was upset with him… there still had to be the reckoning, where his brain switched back on, because he was sure his own silence was just a means of waiting for the storm to commence.

“Are you mad at me?” Asked Adam. “Like… I'd get it if you were. I didn't mean to just skip town—”

Lawrence looked at him. “No, I'm not mad at you, but you skipped town? I was worried.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Adam laughed. “Went on this soul-searching adventure; It was a wild night. And man, no lube.”

“That's great, Adam,” he said, with quiet praise. He really had been very worried, and he really was, very relieved that he was back. “And what did you discover?”

Adam debated whether or not it was a good idea to tell him _everything_ he experienced out in the desert, there wasn't much point. He'd avoid worrying him further by telling him he was lost, and omit the whole smoking thing, to be safe. “Mm, I discovered that not wearing underwear for a day seriously fucking chafes… also that I'm still pretty nifty with a camera when I wanna be… which is encouraging, since I might be able to get some work lined up.”

“That's good,” praised Lawrence with subtlety.

“Yeah, so that happened, and I think I'm gonna be okay… you know, unless you… have a few things to say…”

Lawrence sighed; it was remarkable that either of them had reached this stage at all, but they had, they were living—surviving—and somehow such things as who slept with who and for what reasons, no longer held such importance. He reached over and squeezed Adam's hand. “Like what, Adam?” He asked. “What do you want me to say?”

Adam shrugged, in noncommittal fashion. “Oh, nothing really. Abso-fucking-lutely… nothing.”

It was a lie, obviously. Lawrence saw that. If there was anything Adam didn't want to talk about, there would be no way of forcing the issue. Adam wanted to know what the hell was going on with Lawrence, and he would have told him—gladly—if not for the thin veil of civility they had thrown over them. He waited for Adam to continue, as he knew, he couldn't keep quiet for long when there was something bothering him.

“It's just,” he said, slowly, skating around the testy issue.

Lawrence exhibited his usual degree of patience, occasionally glancing at Adam's face, judging his reactions. The way he frowned and wiped his face told Lawrence all he needed to know: Adam was, for once, lost for words.

“I mean…” Adam had to do this. He told himself. He had to do this, he _had_ to ask this, as weird and awkward as it was, there was no other thing he wanted to know more at this point. For some reason, he felt like apologizing, all over again. “Are you…”

It was difficult for Adam, Lawrence saw. He felt a pang of sorrow at putting Adam through this. How could he? He asked himself. After all the warnings he'd given himself about messing up their friendship… he'd gone and thrown it all away because he was too weak, too fucking weak to stop himself. And the worst part was… he loved it. It felt wonderful to be able to satisfy a need so desperately outstanding, even if it it was irregular.

“Whatever you are trying to ask, Adam,” sighed Lawrence. “Go ahead, please.”

Lawrence was being so patient, and calm—disgustingly so, really—that Adam had to recoil. It was a matter of his doctor attitude that propelled him to do so, and Adam was a little… bummed out. He wanted him to shout, to scream, to defend himself and lash out with all the human feeling he could, but, he let him be, and gave the man the right to respond however he wished, while he himself chose his words carefully. He didn't want to… offend Lawrence, but neither did he want to disguise his emotion like he did. No. He decided it was best to just… come out and ask it, as was his way. Inhaling and exhaling, Adam lowered his head to rest his forehead against the guardrail on the boat. It was harder than it sounded in his head.

“It's alright, Adam,” assured Lawrence warmly; squeezed his hand and then pulled it away again. “I won't be offended.”

“Okay, whatever, fine.” Exhaling, Adam stood up straight, just continued facing forwards. “… are you,” he paused and scratched his neck. “Like… gay?”

“No, Adam.” Lawrence wasted no time in his response, and in shaking his head. It wasn't a harsh denial, but more of a quiet

It was then that Adam turned and looked at him, his mouth slightly ajar in disbelief. “B-but you… come on, man, you think I'm gonna swallow that? You're not gay? Let me just ask again in case your ears are so old you didn't hear me—I mean, it's cool if you are, gay, I mean… why not? Right?”

“No, Adam,” repeated Lawrence, firmly. “I'm not.”

So far, everything had remained civil. Just talking, no raised voices. Adam was a little flustered, but he was otherwise fine. He was shaking, but it was barely noticeable. He wasn't good at this, talking about things deeper than the obvious. It didn't make sense that Lawrence was gay, but so what if he was? He didn't care. Really, though, it was the only explanation that made any logical sense to him, and Lawrence, insisting against that reasoning made him even more confused. Of course, he had to ask again.

“You're… _not_?” _Just making sure_.

“I'm not,” affirmed Lawrence with a little shake of his head. He was smiling, barely.

Adam relaxed a little at that. “Then… then _what_? Why? I don't get it…”

“I believe in love, Adam—not labels.”

“Hah, right… right,” he nodded, processing this information. “What does that even _mean_ , Lawrence?”

Lawrence could see that Adam was not taking any of this too well. He was being calm enough, but he seemed reluctant to really hear what he was saying. He needed time to absorb. “It means… whatever you want it to mean.”

Adam scoffed. This wasn't as satisfying as he'd hoped. Vague answers as always. He was starting to feel like Alison, frustrated, not getting a straight answer out of the man in denial of his wrongdoings. He let out a huge and exasperating sigh. There was no way for him to take this easy. He wasn't even sure what Lawrence was trying to say. “It means whatever I want it to mean? Oh, okay. Because I'm known for my sound judgement, Lawrence, just… tell me, what do you want from me? Because I am so fucking confused right now.”

The other man smiled, gently, before he looked back out to the sea. “I don't want anything from you. The only reason I did what I did,” he paused and wiped a hand across his face; the slightly orange scruff was now well developed over his jawline. “No. Let me explain first. It… It's been bothering me for some time, so much. I was afraid of you taking it the wrong way, and, since you came back, I don't think there's much danger of that anymore. I just… I'm begging you to hear me, hear what I have to say before you react, please, because god help me, I have no idea of how to explain it without sounding like some kind of creep, alright?”

Adam nodded, warily.

“Don't ask me how it started—because I don't know—but, it happened, and I apologize for adding this selfish burden on to your problems. And it was selfish of me, to abuse our friendship in such a way. You had every right in the world to run off and never come back, but, I'm glad you did—come back, that is. It gave me time to rethink my already messed up priorities. It gave me time to evaluate what and who I need in my life,” Lawrence breathed and gave himself a few seconds before turning and sitting up to look directly at Adam. “I need _you_ , Adam. I need you here with me. I've been miserable without you and your smart mouth.”

They both shared a muted chuckle at that, and Adam plucked up the courage to speak.

“Are you sure about that? It sounds pretty gay to me.”

“Yes,” said Lawrence, ignoring the mild insult. “I am very sure. We’ll have our faults, as anyone living together would, but I don't want to pressure you. I want you to be happy, and not let whatever feelings I may or may not have dictate what you should do with your life. You're a grown man, and when you left yesterday; jesus, I felt like your father, chasing a whiny teenager back in to the house. I stopped there at the door, and realized that I didn't want to be that man, I didn't want to take away your free will, I didn't want to put those chains back on you.”

“Good,” said Adam, slightly wide-eyes. “That's good that you didn't treat me like a kid, Lawrence, because you know—you know—I hate that shit. Okay? So why start now? Huh? There's a vital, a huge fucking thing you're tiptoeing around, and it's making me nervous. So, why don't we just get this over with? These… these feelings that you may or may not have, or whatever… are these _feelings_ , related? Are they related to you getting me off yesterday? Because if they are… fuck, I'm more confused than ever.”

“I'm sorry,” said Lawrence, quietly. “I didn't mean to put you through this. I'm sorry you're confused, and I'm not going to lie to you—I'm tired of lying, Adam. And you're the last person… the last person I ever want to lie to… you know the worst of me. You've seen what I did behind Alison's back, the deception, and the lies. All that is over now. I don't need to lie to you, you can see right through all of it, so it might be best if I just say it. It might help clear up a few things.”

Adam waited, with a pained feeling in his gut. He just knew that Lawrence was about to drop something on him that he wouldn't be able to handle. Prepared for the worst, he stood there, on the verge of throwing up over the side of the boat, trying to picture himself somewhere less cold for Lawrence to confess all. A part of him knew what Lawrence was about to say, a very small part. It just seemed too bizarre—the weirdest possible explanation. It didn't _jump_. He wouldn't jump to conclusions, not even when Lawrence stood and leaned all-too closely up against Adam's side. He wouldn't reach any irrational reactions, not even when Lawrence's hand eased its way around his slim waist.

“I have, Adam,” he said, quietly, as though someone might be listening in. “For a while, suffered the most unfortunate infatuation with you… to the extent that, and you were there, so I don't think I need to go in to too much detail, but you know how far I took it. I shouldn't have. I should have listened to my better judgement. I… used your need to suit my own, and that was selfish, and I deceived you in to thinking it was just… fun. It wasn't just that. It meant _much_ more to me that. To say that I have been struggling, is an understatement. I've tried, very hard, to stop having these feelings, but the more I denied it, the stronger it became. I was… a complete mess, an embarrassment. I practically forced myself on you. I can only apologize, and if that's not enough, I'll apologize again and again, because I regret being so damned weak and putting what was in my pants ahead of my brain—it's a problem, I know… I'm still working on it.”

Rigidly standing, Adam was biting his lip to the point of bleeding. At the first sign that things would get uncomfortable Adam was about to take a step back, be cool. It proved much easier said than done. Lawrence's confession was so beyond his expectations that even as he had a few choice words to share on the points brought up, nothing came out of his mouth. Everything began to build up, and build up. Every _fuck_ and _shit_ , was being pushed dick to ass behind his tongue, just bulging out and filling his mouth with a hot dryness that made speaking a privilege he could not afford. And so, he bit his fucking lip as hard as he could to stop himself from screaming. To make it worse, it seemed Lawrence wasn't done.

“So, I'm not trying to treat you like a child, obviously,” he said, disconnecting himself from Adam's side and turning to face him one more time, just barely able to look at the younger man's darting eyes. “If you have to leave, or have some time to yourself, I won't stop you… I mean--don't misunderstand me: I want you to stay… but I will understand. You are free, to do whatever you want and I won't judge you for that.”

“Gee, thanks for not judging me,” spat Adam. “I guess I just have to sort of… accept all this, like its normal to suck your friend’s dick and say _hey, sorry—won't happen again_. Whatever, man. Really, right now… this is a lot to take in.”

Adam would have commenced his usual nervous rituals, if not for concern that the boat would rock him right overboard into the slimy water. Instead, he restrained much of his actions to stay remarkably calm in the wake of this incomprehensible information. It was at times like these (not that he could say there had been many to act as comparison) that he fucking craved a good long cigarette to take the edge off, to smoke off a bit of rage. Whatever, no use dwelling on that crap.

“I know,” hushed Lawrence, in his doctor-voice. “I know it is. But that's fine. It's fine. We can go back home and not worry about it for a while. When the time comes that you might want to talk about it…”

“Hah, like you think you can keep your hands off me?” Adam joked, a little clumsily.

“I don't know,” groaned Lawrence, hanging his head.

Adam did a mental double take: Lawrence really did want him? Like that? He knew Lawrence must have been a bit frustrated, so long without action, and just started looking at Adam, the only living thing near enough and close enough… well, it didn't take a genius to figure out what  _might_ have happened. The might became a thing of the past. It  _happened_. And he was _still_ confused. “You… don't know? Alright, I must have lost more brain cells than I thought with these fish fumes. You said you _regret_ it. Right? You _apologized and apologized for being so damned weak_ … and you _don't know_ if it won't happen again? What the fuck kind of backwards-ass apology is that, anyway?”

Lawrence shook his head, “that's not what I'm saying. I'm _saying_ , that it was stupid, and selfish. I'm not saying that I can just switch _off_ feeling that way. Adam. I do feel terrible, but I can't help it. There's this part of me that craves you. I don't think it's just a… one-time thing. I've thought about it, since you've been gone, and after what we did… It's _still_ there, like a weight sitting on my chest. I did hope, that it was just an unspent bit of curiosity in me, that would just go away when the curiosity was sated, but it wasn't, and it isn't.”

“Wow,” was all Adam could say. He was queazy, and in dire need of solid land. The few minutes on the boat had taken its toll, which was bad enough on its own, but the odd combination of nerves, seasickness and confusion made his need to shout and swear just… die. He was tired, having not slept for a solid day, and the energy to fight had left him. He just wanted to go, go to sleep, go away from this weird reality and wake up in a better one. “…fat fucking chance.”

“What?” Asked Lawrence. He had been watching him, closely; the way his lip bled, the way his eyes drooped. He looked beaten and more than a little shaken. The obligatory guilt set in; he would have liked is to have gone smoother, for Adam's sake. Still, it wasn't as bad as he'd imagined.

“Nothing,” said Adam with a weak dismissal. “Can we just… forget about all this? I don't, I don't want to have to think anymore… been doing a lot of that this night… day… morning… whatever. I want to get back home. Can we get back home? Please, Lawrence?”

Lawrence saw the look in his eyes. He didn't want to deal with this right now, which was understandable. “Alright, yes of course. Let's go.”

Ignoring the broken tone in Lawrence's voice, Adam uneasily made tracks to leaving the boat. One step, two step; he turned around. The other man was still standing there, more contemplative than ever.

“Lawrence… and… I may be crazy—stupid, whatever, so sue me. I gotta ask this, to clarify, because my brain is in a weird place right now: you're absolutely sure you're not gay, right? …but you're having feelings for me? That's kinda weird, but I guess we gotta work through it. Because... I don't really think I can live without you. So… that's the… responsible thing to do, right?”

Lawrence nodded.

“Good. Cool, well just… go home then.”

They went home, as Adam requested. Lawrence locked down the boat (it wasn't going anywhere today anyway) and struggled to follow Adam, who always remained some steps ahead of him. It was obvious that he wanted to walk by himself, yet he couldn't quite distance himself from him all the way. It saddened him greatly to be apart from Adam, but he respected his need to be alone. Lawrence felt a freezing on his skin; a shiver of loneliness. He told himself that nothing would change between them, but it would take some time for Adam to readjust to this new side of the coin, if he ever would. Adam was a rather stubborn young man, but he wasn't opposed to changes. He wanted to stay with Lawrence, even knowing Lawrence was having these internal struggles. How could he not, after all they'd been through? There was no way he was giving it up because of a simple conflict of interest.

 

The house didn't feel the same when they arrived.

Adam stopped there. He felt like a stranger all over again, shuffling on the spot until Lawrence unlocked the door for them. He stepped inside, but did not welcome himself the way he usually might. No jumping on the couch, none of that shit anymore. He simply stood inside with his hands in his jacket pockets, looking at the floor as Lawrence closed the door behind them.

“I, er,” he said quietly, awkwardly breaking the silence. “I've agreed to sell this place. Now that I'm on my feet, this place is a little cramped.”

“Cramped?” Scoffed Adam. “It's a sardine can, man.”

“Yes,” laughed Lawrence. “While you were gone, I had a few long conversations with some apartment managers in town. If you want to come along, I'd appreciate your input—you'll be living there too, it's not just my decision to make.” He winced as he moved and sat down, folding down against the floor. “I mean, you don't have to, if you'd prefer not to, but it might make things easier.”

Adam sniffed, and hesitantly moved around the back of the couch and to the front, where he carefully sat at the other side, no longer as close to him as he would have just a day before. “I'll come, unless you're looking at houseboats. Fuck that. Getting sick of fish smell.”

“Okay,” Lawrence cautiously laughed, quietly through his nose. “You don't need to worry about that.”

Gradually the ice began to crack around them. Adam, having being ushered in to normal conversation by Lawrence, took his cue to revert back to same old Adam: sassy and coarse. His posture shifted from sitting forward, to leaning back, hands behind his head. He kicked at the medical instrument by the floor. “Think you might wanna upgrade, you know, to like a cane? Or something less creepy-looking?”

“Maybe,” said Lawrence. It was his understanding that Adam was talking about things, anything that caught his attention. It bothered him.

“I mean, just look at this thing,” said Adam, bending down and picking up the clinical device with a disdainful expression on his face. He balanced the grip against his knee and pointed the thing upwards. “It's just… fucking evil. Looks like a murder weapon. Reminds me of hospitals every time I see it. Get rid of it, Lawrence, before I do.”

“Adam,” uttered Lawrence. “Stop being nervous. If you'd really want me to get a _nicer_ -looking stick, then I will.” He was about to add: _but if this is just a means of avoidance_ … he decided to stop right there. There was no reason to start an argument; he had no right judging Adam for not wanting to talk about it. After all, he himself had spent half his life avoiding touchy subjects with Alison.

“I'd appreciate that,” said Adam with a slurred comprehension. “Right now would be good.”

Lawrence raised his brow. “Right now might be difficult, Adam.”

“Yeah,” said Adam, sitting up. “No. Just… throw this thing out and go get a new one. What's hard about that?”

Lawrence sighed heavily, and leaned down with his face in his hands. As unhealthy as it was for him to indulge Adam's awkward fantasy, he couldn't exactly say no. He would have preferred Adam to just speak his mind like he always did, but there was a rift between them that stopped both of them from being alone together and normal. Adam’s thin veil of ignorance wouldn't last forever; he just needed time, and something to keep his brain busy enough to forget about Lawrence _wanting_ him. “Sure, Adam. I'll just… drop it in the garbage and jog down to the cane store.”

“Hah,” said Adam humorlessly. “Funny bastard. Okay, stupid idea. I'm just,” abruptly he rose to his feet. “With shit right now, alright? I'm trying really hard not to scream like a girl and let this go—because if I think about too much, I'll go crazy.”

“Alright,” said Lawrence lowly, guiltily. He looked upset Adam. “Let's go out then.”

 

Adam was grateful. Lawrence's compliance was something he counted on. Every time he panicked or felt uneasy, Lawrence was pivotal to keep him grounded. He _really_ didn't want to think about Lawrence lusting after his unexplored regions. Anything, anything was better than thinking about that. However, as they let the house in to cold midday, Adam became increasingly aware of his physical distance from Lawrence. It wasn't anyone's fault that this happened, and certainly no one was being punished over it. He actually, kind of understood, in a way. He felt for Lawrence too, in his own way. If it meant not losing him, he'd let Lawrence do whatever the fuck he wanted to him, but that wasn't fair to either of them. Whatever bridges needed crossing, Adam was grateful that Lawrence was not trying to pressure, him; he returned to holding on to Lawrence's arm again.

“Be careful,” he said, warmly. “If you fall and kill yourself, I won't be able to make fun of your fucked-up life any more.”

Lawrence returned the smile and indeed heeded Adam's advice; he took it slow and stopped trying to prove he was as good as anyone else out there. With Adam his accompaniment, he broke away from that fearful, melancholy place where all his concerns lay in the lap of guilt. Adam cared about him, and that was all he really ever wanted in the end.

As luck would have it, there was a store, an old hunting-fishing get-up that sold all sorts of rustic paraphernalia, walking canes included. Neither man felt quite at home with the strong wood odor or the heavy masculine influence, but it seemed like the best place to go. The owner was an older heavy-set gentleman with a with white moustache. He was sitting on a tiny stool, which looked about ready to snap under his weight.

“Can I help you fellas?” He asked.

“No, thank you,” said Lawrence, politely.

Adam grimaced at the weird array of smells from the various oddities that littered the shelves, and continued fixed to the older man's side. The various fishing rods and supplies were of moderate quality, highly polished and handmade. It took him just a look at the window display for Adam to decide he didn't belong there. He longed for the modern world, and was not shy about his distaste.

“Who the hell buys this junk anyway?” He laughed, flicking a wire on an semi-functional acoustic guitar, turned in to a display for feathered lures.

“Shh,” said Lawrence, squeezing Adam's arm. “Behave yourself.”

On a rack on a standing shelf at one side of the store was a row of walking canes. Adam saw them and quickly guided Lawrence towards them; he was eager to get this over with. He was by no means an expert at this kind of thing, but plain wood just seemed… tacky. It nearly sent him in to hysterics when Lawrence reached for the most boring one on display. “Dude…”

“What?” Said Lawrence, looking at Adam with surprise.

“Predicable,” said Adam. “Wouldn't you rather have a cool one that you can show off?”

“Cool?” Lawrence smirked. “Well, I wasn't really going for cool, Adam. More, functional.”

“See, that's your problem: you think Diana wants a _functional_ dad? Hell. No. She wants a dad that isn't predictable, that isn't a giant dork. I think, no, I know. I know that she wants a dad with a badass dragon on his cane. Now that would be cool.”

“Great,” sighed Lawrence. “Now I'm taking coolness advice from a kid who thinks dragons aren't dorky.” He smiled; at least Adam wasn't being eerily quiet anymore. He was trying, a little too hard to be his usual self, and he was playing right in to his hands.

“Hey, for your information, Diana thinks I'm cool.”

“Oh, really,” laughed Lawrence. “No offence to my darling only child, but she’s a an easily influenced young girl; she thinks her mom is cool, so it's not much of a compliment. Plus, she doesn't know you like I do. So, which should I go with?”

Adam shook his head, “I told you: get the cool one.”

Lawrence stared for a minute at the stupidly extravagant ones, which were at the very end of the rack, priced lowest to highest. The dark brown twisting carvings of scales, simulated a tail winding up the cane all the way to the spiky dragonhead at the top. Lawrence hated it. No doubt Adam knew that, and wasn't serious. He lifted a shiny black cane, smooth with faux ivory bands and a matching skull at the top. It was sturdy and easier to grip. He rather liked it. He found Adam's disbelieving reaction to his choice to be amusing. “What's your problem now?”

“No problem,” said Adam with a shrug. “Just didn't figure you to be that creepy, man.”

“Now I'm creepy?” Chuckled Lawrence.

“Hell yeah,” said Adam. “Creepier than me, and that's no small achievement. Now shut up and get the fucking stick, I'm getting sick of saying the word creepy, today.”

Lawrence shrugged. He decided to get it, creepy or not.

Outside, things had gradually entered a note of normalcy, with Adam no longer keeping his distance as they walked together. Lawrence was using the new cane, with some difficulty adjusting to balance and weight distribution, but Adam was there by his side as always, at the ready to slow his fall should he trip. And it was difficult for Lawrence. Re-re-learning to walk. His prosthetic felt heavy and cumbersome, and he was filled with a greater awareness of how strange he looked, lurching around like some old horror movie monster, but at least the new cane did it job to accentuate the point. It was funny, in a way.

Adam held on to Lawrence's crutch, just in case the older man found the stick too difficult to use at this early stage. He'd only been walking for a few days, and Adam was worried that he was overexerting himself. Yet, he seemed to be doing fine. He was an acutely adaptive man who thrived under pressure; he had no reason at all to worry. Adam used the crutch for his own means, idly swinging the huge metal support back and forth exaggeratedly as they walked. There was still a great many elements of Lawrence troubling him. _Not gay_ , he kept telling himself, reminding. _Not gay. Not gay? Wait a fucking minute_ … no, fuck this, he needed to ask him again.

“No, I'm really not,” replied Lawrence, no longer smiling.

“So, what… are you like… bi… confused?”

“Adam,” sighed Lawrence, struggling along beside him. He was sweating and out of breath with the effort. “I'm not a young man. Believe me, I've had decades to grow comfortable in my own skin. I'm old enough to know what is what within me. For the last time, I am not gay. I wish I was: it'd be easier to explain, but sadly…”

“You don't believe in labels.” Repeated Adam, recalling the conversation on the boat.

“That's right,” chimed Lawrence, a little irritated with the repetition.

Adam stopped. “You believe in love.”

Lawrence nodded, stopping alongside Adam on the sidewalk, grateful for the break to catch his breath. He didn't like where this was going; he swallowed hard, and tried his best to still his leaping heartbeat.

Adam's brows furrowed as he looked at the ground between them. The gears in his brain were ticking and turning slowly, the inevitable conclusion simmering to boil. The unbelievable—formally unbelievable—summation became the only possible explanation. “So, you err… you _think_ you love me, right? Like the same way guys do when they get really drunk and promise each other never to talk about it again—without the drunk part? Oh, boy. That's… wow, pretty fucking serious. I… I don't know what to say.”

Glancing to and from Adam's eyes, Lawrence's breathing did not slow down, and neither did Adam's. He noted the younger man was having difficulty breathing. Smoking again, he sadly suspected. “Then don't say anything,” he said, leaning on his cane. “I'm going to get some help for this, I promise. I don't want you looking over your shoulder anymore. You have enough problems to deal with.”

“No, man,” groaned Adam, resuming their walk again. “Don't do that. I fucking _hate_ censorship; it’s not… like I didn't like what you did. Shit, probably do it again if you want. I just don't know about the whole _L word thing_ —we both have commitment issues.”

Lawrence chuckled, “I'll try to remember that.”

_He didn’t know, about the L word thing_? Lawrence felt his heart stop dead in his chest. What did that mean? He wasn't considering this? He had barely been able to get through hearing those few sentences without a self-induced heart attack. Adam said he would do it again. Was he really so lonely, as to indulge Lawrence's unhealthy attraction and risk letting it get out of hand? No. Lawrence was determined to not let it happen again. Adam deserved better than a few miserable fucks with him; he deserved love, even if the idea that he might be with anyone else killed him.

As they walked, Adam was mentally kicking himself. He told Lawrence he’d enjoyed it. _Well, fuck it, might as well go full-gay_. But he had enjoyed it, and truthfully he wouldn't exactly turn down another go—he was still young, and appreciated sex (what little he got of it). And he had tried to picture somebody else between his legs that morning, but he reality was as oppressive as a wall blocking out the fantasy. It didn't exactly work against his arousal, and he was still coming to terms with the why part. Whatever, he thought. Getting more action as a non-gay man in one day than years with girls. Sad. Pathetic. But rather eye-opening.

And so it was that an unspoken truce had been met; Lawrence, keeping in check his desires, and Adam, tentatively agreeing to an arrangement of mutual interest. They went back to the house feeling a reciprocated fatigue, neither saying another word about what just happened.

Lawrence nursed his new cane for the rest of the day, grateful that Adam was not running away again. He took it all rather well, considering things. He was impressed, but still worried. It was clear that things would not quite be the same between them, no matter how much denial was tossed around. Lawrence was ready to continue with a new chapter of his life, and it seemed that Adam was too. He’d managed to pick himself up and rediscover himself.

“I’m proud of you,” said Lawrence quietly back at home.

“Why?” He asked, sneering. “Did I forget to tell you that I started smoking again, and then quit again? Because I don’t know, that might change your opinion.”

Lawrence chuckled. “No, you didn’t, but I suspected as much.”

“…and you’re proud of me?” Adam looked at him, finding it hard to believe that he’d done anything worthy of praise. “Why? All I’ve done it get a job—not that hard in this fucking town. Oh, unless you’re talking about the whole, you being gay but not really thing… that’s fine; I’m trying not to think too hard about it, even though I did come in your mouth.”

“No,” said Lawrence with a growl of antipathy. “Definitely not that. I’m talking about the way you are dealing… with everything. When I first met you in the bathroom, you were such a scared, panicked, angry kid, and now… I can see it. You might not be able to, but I can. You’re changing, Adam. You’re not letting anything hold you down any more—not him, not the bathroom, not your fears, not me. I admire you greatly.”

“I guess,” Adam scoffed. “But, you’re missing an important thing out of that list of yours, aren’t you, Lawrence?”

“And what would that be?” Asked Lawrence, tilting his head.

“I don’t know yet. But I guess it’s something we’re gonna have to figure out together.”


	21. Doctor Flash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By far the cutest chapter.

There were a few things Adam had been thinking about over the next few days, which had been, decidedly uneventful. The first thing was Lawrence. It wasn’t hard at all to picture himself falling for him; he was a nice guy who had nothing but kindness and patience for him. He’d not given much thought to being gay, because he wasn’t. He wondered if Lawrence’s new philosophy of ‘Love, not labels,’ had started to rub off on him. Whatever happened, he was looking at the blonde man with more fondness than any supposedly heterosexual male should have.

It was a cold day, but Adam's energetic adventuring kept him warm.

Lawrence on the other hand, had to watch, sat on a park bench while Adam ran around with his camera, taking pictures of anything he wanted. He wanted to join him, be a more active part in this exhibition, but he had tired from the walk, and could simply not keep up with the agile young man even if he wanted to. Truthfully, he had been keeping his distance over the last two days; there was no rift anymore, but there was certainly something different.

An hour in to the session, Adam returned to Lawrence with a digital camera in his gloved hands. “Here, take a look at these,” said Adam, hopping up and down, trying to keep warm. “This was good, I think, productive, for once. Hoo, it's cold.”

The LED display showed Lawrence a grid of the most recent pictures taken, and he looked at them strictly with an amateurs eye, but felt he knew the difference between a good photograph and a bad one. “A little unhappy,” muttered Lawrence, noting the lack of color in many of the images. The cloudless sky was gray and the trees were bare of leaf, reaching out with damp branches.

“Yeah, it's called winter, Lawrence,” snorted Adam. “You should know what one looks like; you've seen about a thousand of them.”

Taking back his camera with frosty insistency, Adam briefly glared at Lawrence as he started putti his cameras back away in the backpack he had on.

“Are you ready to go?” Asked Lawrence, very surprised; he'd been sitting waiting for well over an hour, despairing for Adam to ever finish. He floundered for a moment, sitting up, not knowing quite how to stand.

Adam breathed and leaned down to link his arm with his, helping him up.

“I'm not getting any younger,” growled Lawrence. “Sometimes I wonder if this ever gets easier.”

“Probably not,” said Adam.

They walked together, huddled close as the chilling wind blew against them, leaving behind footprints varying in shape and consistency in the frost. For a moment, as Lawrence became more independent, Adam let his arm loosen, and hand slide in to Lawrence's as they left the park. It was a simple, caring gesture that surprised the blonde man in to a insular warmth that he revelled in. It only lasted a moment, just a squeeze of the fingers in return from Lawrence, and the hand fell away and they continued to walk together.

The little house had been getting colder and colder. Adam complained that it was even colder inside than it was out; he'd asked Lawrence when they could finally move out, whining like a child. He was eager to get further away from the docks.

Lawrence had finally heeded Adam's advice, and stayed away from the docks, especially the boat. It was just too risky; slippery surfaces everywhere, and Adam wasn't interested in going with him ever day waiting for fish to climb in to a net. No, Lawrence decided with some hesitancy, that he would take up his former title again. He had an interview, more like an informal meeting with an administrator of the local hospital later in the day. He had been grumpy ever since the call the day before. Surprisingly Adam had tried cheering him up, saying it didn't look good to an interviewer when you were frowning all the time, and that he knew from experience. Lawrence tried his best to smile for Adam, but it was made even harder with Adam's bored foray in to taking his camera to the park.

“My toes are fucking frozen,” shivered Adam inside. He was standing by the door, hugging himself, breathing fog in front of his face.

“Hm,” murmured Lawrence, fitting the key in the door. “You should count yourself fortunate that you have all toes present.”

“Fuck you,” scoffed Adam, weakly. Sometimes he forgot to be sensitive around Lawrence; mentioning faithlessness, bad fathers… Lawrence didn't usually take it personally, which was good, and he never told Adam to censor himself. Which was very good. “Sorry… okay, just a bit cold. You're lucky; I'd rather have no foot than a foot full of icicles.”

Lawrence smiled as he took Adam by the arm. “Go sit down and I'll get you a blanket. Get warm. I might need you later to help me to my interview, what with the streets being icy, I'm in danger of slipping.”

Adam nodded, grunted unhappily. He could feel it now, the cold. In the park, he'd been fine—busy—he hadn't even felt it. Now that he'd gotten home, he was freezing. Like a block of ice, he let Lawrence sit him down on the couch and couldn't move save from shivering. He missed the warm arm once it left him as Lawrence didn't sit with him. He found a blanket tossed over his shoulders moments later and he clung it around himself tightly, shivering even harder.

“Boy, you really _are_ cold,” said Lawrence, warming up his hands and placing one on Adam's forehead. He thought he'd been exaggerating, as was often his way.

“No s-shit, Sherlock,” breathed Adam.

Lawrence smiled apologetically, and let the hand that rested on Adam's forehead slide up in to Adam's hair. His hair was getting pretty long, and was damp. He was cold too, but it seemed Adam had a bit of sensitivity; not even protesting as he doctored him like he normally would have. He even leaned in to the touch like a cat. His smile of apology became a smile of sympathy. “Oh, Adam, I think you're coming down with something.”

“Great,” murmured Adam. “Can't think of a better way to spend a glorious day like this than turning in to a Popsicle.”

Chuckling, Lawrence pulled his hand out of his hair and let it drop by his side. Adam looked so damn unhappy, like a grumpy old man, back bent over and jaw sticking out. He knew, as a doctor, this was looking pretty bad for him; likely thanks to his interest in photographing the local area, running around like a madman, totally disregarding his wellbeing in this winter season. Instinct told Lawrence to help him, but his limited mobility and lack of applicable medicines made it all-too difficult. “Bed rest is better,” he said, finally.

“No-no,” said Adam quietly. “I'm fine—I'll just…”

He tried to get up but Lawrence stopped him, lowering him back down with hands on his shoulders.

“Poor, stubborn, stupid Adam,” smirked Lawrence, fondly.

“Rich… compliant… smart Lawrence,” spat Adam, bunching the blankets around himself again. “Why are you always right?”

Lawrence had taken gentle hold of Adam's chin, and lifted his eyes to meet his, while he examined his features. “Because I'm a doctor—and I'm smart, remember?”

Adam shifted uncomfortably. “You know, this isn't helping… how are you going to get to your interview if I'm here… being…”

“Shh,” said Lawrence. “Don't worry about it. I'll get there—I have my ways. Now, shut up and lie back,” he said, easily guiding Adam to lean over on to the couch. He lifted his legs and pulled the blanket completely over, covering him. “You getting sick helps me less than you being not around at all. You will need to keep warm, wrap up tight and I will be here.”Lawrence had sat with Adam, on the space of the couch near Adam's chest, hand on his arm, stroking up and down.

Adam drew his knees up to his chest, feeling the cold coming on hard and heavy. He let out a shuddering, annoyed cry; why couldn't shit just go well, for once? Sure, Lawrence's touches felt nice, so nice… but he was being a dick, he was sure. The one day Lawrence really needed him, and he gets sick… figures. Can't do anything right.

“Don't feel bad, Adam,” comforted Lawrence. “You'll be better again in no time; you're a resilient little shit, you'll be good as new by tomorrow.”

“If you say so, doc,” mumbled Adam, half-burying his face in to the warmth of the blanket. It wasn't good enough. Everything seemed so… cold. He hated this. He felt so fucking needy. Needy for warmth, needy for Lawrence. It reminded him of the bathroom, when he needed him so badly there to stay with him. Lawrence would only end up leaving again. “Can't believe this shit happens to me.”

“Well, you haven't exactly had what one might call a lucky year.”

Adam grew attached to Lawrence's comfort, his husky voice and presence; he didn't like the idea of him going out again by himself, leaving him shivering and alone. He pushed his head in to Lawrence's lap, looking up at him. “…and I'm still cold. Lie down with me?”

Lawrence chuckled, and ruffled Adam's hair. “I don't think that is a good idea, Adam,” he said with a well-masked nervousness. He carefully removed Adam's head from his lap and placed the pillows there for him to rest on. He got up from the couch with some effort and made to leave, Adam needed a few things.

“Lawrence,” grated out Adam. He had reached out and grabbed the back of Lawrence's shirt, before letting it drop from encroaching weakness. “Please, at least just sit here—you don't have to go for… for hours yet. Besides, it wouldn't look very good at your interview at the hospital if you say you showed up early because you left your dying friend alone to freeze.”

“I was just going to make you more comfortable,” replied Lawrence with a bright smile. He heard Adam groan his disapproval but left anyway, coming back with a pair of gray sweatpants and a matching sweater. “Here, put these on, you're not going out anymore, so you might as well get changed.”

Adam groaned out loud, he really didn't want to move.

“Alright, I'll do it,” chuckled Lawrence. He was incredibly slow, not wanted to just rip the blanket off his friend. “You can't be laying around in those freezing clothes.”

Pulling the blanket up, Lawrence first took off Adam's shoes; one at a time, unlacing and sitting there while he did so.

Adam squirmed, not wanting to be bared to the world. He was getting colder by the minute. What sense did it make for him to take his clothes off? If he didn't know better… he continued struggling as his socks were smoothly rolled down and pulled off. The worst came next, with the feeling of his belt being unbuckled. “Lawrence, man… I can do it myself, come on, I'm not a little kid…”

“Yeah, but you whine like one,” chuckled Lawrence.

Since Adam was being difficult, he had to become more insistent, knowing what was best for him. He took advantage of the wriggling hips and quickly slid down Adam's jeans, along with his boxers, forcing the younger man in to an annoyed grunt of disapproval. Lawrence took the sweatpants and tried to get Adam's legs in to them. At this point he didn't care so much if they were inside-out, backwards, as long as he got them on. His doctor side came strong, forgetting all sexual feelings he had for this pretty man, half naked under the blanket, he roughly pulled the pants up to his knees, and Adam did the rest, settling down more when he finally got them up.

Thinking the hard part was over, Adam sighed and moved to lay on his back. However, when Lawrence leaned over him with the sweatshirt in hands, he began to panic; taking his shirt off in normal conditions was fucking chilly, this would undoubtedly be worse.

“Adam, quit it,” he growled affectionately, giving his head a little clap.

Eventually when Adam settled in to another shivering fit, Lawrence pried down the covers from around his neck and quickly pulled his shirt up and odd over his head. It messed up his hair, which looked adorable, but Lawrence had not time to admire. Quickly, before Adam could clench the blanket too tightly to him again, he pulled the sweatshirt over his head and allowed him to pull it down himself.

“Diana didn't fight this much at bath time,” he sighed, finally having dressed him. He sat back at the other side of the couch and wiped sweat from his forehead; dressing Adam was a pain he hoped wouldn't be a recurring thing. Bath time though, was something he wasn't looking forward to. Adam would definitely need one later—he stank of sweat already. That was something he didn't mention to Adam. He hoped this sick spell wouldn't last too long, he could bathe himself by then after he'd sweated it out. At least, he hoped he'd be well enough.

“Diana isn't a grown man getting undressed by another dude,” growled Adam, getting back in to his foetal position of warmth. “And my fucking toes are still cold.”

Lawrence huffed and shook his head. When Adam prodded his feet against Lawrence legs, he pulled them in to his lap, forcing his legs to straighten out. He pulled the blanket all the way down over his lap and began to rub Adam's feet with his hands. They were indeed, as Adam described, fucking cold. “That'll teach you to not go running around a park in freezing cold weather, won't it?”

“Man, the only thing this will teach me is to wear an extra pair of socks and not use them to jerk off in anymore,” he tried to laugh, but it came out as a rattling cough.

“I didn’t need to know that,” grimaced Lawrence, still with Adam's feet in his hands.

“Don't be a fucking baby,” chuckled Adam weakly; he loved fucking with Lawrence. “You've had my stuff in your mouth, I don't think this is any worse. Besides, I don't wear my fucking come socks—any more than you wear a condom on your head.”

“Still,” said Lawrence. “That's pretty disgusting. Remind me to use tongs next time I carry your clothes to wash.”

Adam tried laughing again, but a cough came out instead. “Shit. I was fine, not an hour ago. Stupid gay-ass immune system.”

Lawrence was glad that Adam was talking, or at least trying to, as he always loved his company. It hurt him greatly to leave him alone like this. What if he didn't get better? He advised himself that this appointment he had would only be short, and he wouldn't have to leave Adam.

“I'm thinking I should rearrange this interview,” said Lawrence.

Hearing this, Adam raised his head to look down at the other side of the couch. He shook his head, fiercely. “No way, don't do that. It's not serious—just a cold. I've suffered through worse, as you know.”

Lawrence nodded. Oh yes, he knew.

He had his own appointment coming up with the girl at the photography studio, but that was informal, and there was no pressure, unlike Lawrence. He didn't want to screw anything up just because he got a little cold. Although, he did feel pretty shitty, he wouldn't have said no to the company for a while, as long as Lawrence could afford to give him it. It wasn't long after that his skin broke in goosebumps, and his nose ran and teeth chattered. He felt Lawrence's hands as a source of comfort. He couldn't take it, it was so cold.

“Lawrence,” he shuddered.

“Adam,” Lawrence said, leaning over him. “Are you alright?”

“No, you idiot,” he growled. “Get down here…”

Brows furrowing, the man moved to try and feel Adam's forehead again, only to be pulled down on top of Adam's shaking body, arms under the covers seize drew around his back. He was clinging the man to him like a teddy bear. “Adam, come on…” he strained, dropping his cane on the floor with a clatter as he shifted around on top of Adam. His hold on him was terribly weak, and Lawrence hadn't the heart to move himself away, only move so that he wasn't laying directly on top of him. “This is awfully uncomfortable.”

“Not from here,” said Adam, mumbling. “Can't you get closer?”

“Closer?” Grunted Lawrence. “I don't…”

“Oh, come on,” whined Adam. “Quit holding out. Just… I don't know… do _something_.” It wasn't enough. Adam needed him closer, warmer. He needed his body against his, encapsulating his frozen corpse with living warmth. At this point, he no longer cared how whiny he sounded, or how needy he was being; if he could just get warm, he would be happy. “Get under the covers, man, please?”

Growling, Lawrence's body went limp on top of him, allowing himself to be posed and modelled like an action figure as Adam tried to get himself inexplicably close; not wanted to leave the protection of the blanket but still trying to get Lawrence there. He said he'd do anything for Adam, and this, by comparison to other things, seemed relatively minor. “Alright, alright. Just calm down. I'll lie with you for half an hour before I need to freshen up and leave. Okay?”

Adam made a sound of reluctant tolerance and scooped Adam up in to his arms with relative ease, before pulling him against his chest. He heard Adam mutter something, but quickly silenced him by hugging his shivering form tightly, hand at the back of Adam's head, pressing his face against his shoulder. Lawrence's other hand traveled up and down Adam's back, sliding under his sweatshirt and over the damp skin there in smooth gliding circles to a sighing, pleased reception.

“Mmm, Flash,” moaned Adam.

Lawrence's eyes slowly opened. He needed to wait a second before his brain could register what Adam was saying. He sounded glowing, if that was possible. “What did you say?”

“Mm, nothing,” chuckled Adam, embarrassed.

Lawrence lifted his head back to look down. Adam appeared to be smiling, and shivering much less. He was sceptical of this particular treatment, but it seemed to be working. “You said something,” reminded Lawrence.

“No man, it's… It's stupid, really fucking stupid.”

“And this isn't?” Snorted Lawrence.

Adam couldn't believe it; in less than five minutes he'd gotten Lawrence Gordon crushing him to his chest, breathing against his ear, and it was perfect. He really was cold, but he didn't have to be lonely anymore, at least not until Lawrence left, and he wasn't going to stop him from doing that. But in the right here, the right now, he was confirming his previously hidden affection for the older man. He cursed his delirium for uttering the secret, private little nickname, but his lips had already been loosened, and Lawrence wasn't going to let this drop.

“I called you Flash, alright,” breathed Adam. He spoke quickly, so that the awkward situation passed by as fast as possible. “Like Flash Gordon, Lawrence Gordon; you're kinda my superhero, and you kinda look like him but older, and please don't fucking tease me about this, because I'm too fucking sick to put up with this shit…”

Lawrence smiled, and said nothing, he only reached around Adam and pulled him close, close than ever. He felt closer to him. Such a stupid, childish nickname, but it was the association that melted Lawrence's heart. The association of his name to a superhero—Adam's hero—was something he'd never have considered. He was only doing what he had to, as a good human being, he'd never done any of it to earn credibility. Shooting Adam may have damaged his reputation as a good guy, but it was all out of insanity. He felt sane now, saner, and closer to Adam than ever. All it took was a stupid, little nickname. He nuzzled his face in to Adam's neck, soft hair tickling him. “I won't tease you, I promise.”

It was hell leaving Adam there, but he'd already made plans. He didn't protest, and he almost seemed to be asleep in fact, as Lawrence carefully removed himself from the younger man's clinging embrace. He looked like an angel. He kissed him lightly on the forehead before retrieving his cane and leaving him. It took him a few minutes to change in to a blue shirt and black pants. He was attending the interview semi-casual; it was easier than dressing up fully in a suit and tie (he knew Adam hated that look) and he was running a little behind. Short work was made of his beard with a razor and the sink, and he did grab a jacket, because it would be cold outside. He told himself to hurry along and not dawdle—Adam would be needing him. But, as he passed him on the way to the door, he couldn't help but stare. Another promise left his lips as he left the house.

 

Still using his witness protection identity, Doctor James Follmer arrived for his interview with a Doctor from the local hospital, a Doctor dressed in a white shirt and black slacks. He was a little older than Lawrence, and mostly gray around the ears. He introduced himself at a coffee shop that was closer to the house, and told Lawrence that it would be easier for him.

“That's awfully nice of you Doctor Allen,” he said, sitting down and clearing his throat. He was under pressure; feeling Adam's heat prick behind his ears, warning him that he shouldn't make smalltalk.

“I thought this would be an easier location for you to get to with your infirmity. How is that going by the way.”

“Fine, thank you,” he said, keeping his words clipped.

“You have an impressive resumè,” he said, shuffling the stack of papers on the table and peering through his rimless spectacles. “I do understand that there are certain… circumstances that prevent certain details on here from being revealed,” he murmured, noticing the heavily blacked out sections in names and dates, and stamped with official seals. “That's fine—I won't ask personal questions, and there are plenty of perfectly credible references on your behalf working in your favor. The only question is your capability to work and in what capacity.”

Lawrence nodded, “yes, I am still recovering. It's a long road ahead yet, but I believe one day my mobility will be back to an acceptable state.”

“You have experience as a surgeon—oncologist,” he said, leafing though a folder. “Even without both your legs, your skills and expertise will be more than welcomed. At first, we could set you quite nicely as a specialist consultant. Giving advice, teaching, lending a hand during operations—that sort of thing. As for retuning you to a full-time surgeon, we will obviously have to wait to see what the future holds for your recovery.”

“Yes, I was expecting you'd say that,” said Lawrence. “My legs may not be all there, but my brain is better than ever—if it's all you can offer, I have to accept. I'm a doctor, and I want to help people, in any capacity I can.”

The other man smiled and nodded. “Glad to hear it. We're a very small community. Two hospitals; about five general practitioners; three surgeons; two ambulances… exactly zero oncologists, specialists… that sort of thing. Normally when someone is in need of someone with your skills, we have to take them to the neighboring hospitals—just to get them seen. We barely have a working x-Ray machine for christ’s sake.” He looked down and pinched the bridge of his nose, then looked up, eyes a little watery. “Of course, we can't pay you as much as you are perhaps used to getting, but we'll do our best to compensate you.”

“It's fine—whatever you can afford to give me. I'll even work on a voluntary basis for a month or so, until I'm up to full physical standard.”

The doctor chuckled, “I think we can afford you Doctor, you certainly seem worth it.”

An agreement having been made, Lawrence reached over the table with his hand and awaited reception, which was given with a slightly frail handshake. In the end it wasn't an interview, per se, more like a meeting to discuss terms. Lawrence was given dates a month from the date of the first meeting, to attend another meeting with the board of administrators of the local health department district for formal appraisal of his employment. By then, he figured, he might even be able to show off a bit and walk without a cane, though that was only a fanciful thought. He was happy to accept the offer. It was an accomplished feeling that rushed through him as he bade the man goodbye; a feeling that yes, things would get better. For a long time he had been depressed, no family, no way to occupy his time. Then he found Adam, or rather, Adam found him. He found a new life and now he was on the road to recovery and had stability to look forward to.

Leaving the coffee shop, and out in to the cold, he heeded the other doctor’s advice, and headed straight home. He was relieved at how quickly it went, though he was t surprised; Doctors often had more important things to do, they didn't waste time. With that in mind, he sped (hobbled) away back to the house.

He was worried about Adam.

Never should have left him there, he told himself. He kept getting pictures of Adam, shivering bad, shivering worse, bones rattling. His own breathing rattled in his chest as he went beyond his limits to get back to him. There was likely nothing wrong, but he couldn't help worry; after seeing Adam as a terrified kid covered with sweat and blood… he had more than a little soft spot for him—which Adam indicated, was a feeling mutually shared.

 

“Oh, Adam,” whispered Lawrence.

The man had thrown off the covers and was laying on top of them on the tiny expanse of floor in front of the couch. He was on his back and had apparently moved on from the cold, and had entered a burning hot phase. His sweatshirt was off, nowhere in sight and his slim torso was slick and shiny with a film of sweat. His eyes were at least open, but distant and starey. It looked as though he had gotten through the worst of it, thank god.

“Talk to me, Adam,” whispered Lawrence.

Adam's eyes rolled in the direction of the voice; up until now, he hadn't had an awful lot to see. Lawrence was a wonderful change. If he wasn't so battered by fever, he'd have hugged him, but instead he laid there, leaning in to the touches again this forehead, and on his back as the older man sat him up.

“Okay. Talking.” Muttered Adam.

Lawrence smoothed back the sweaty dark locks in slow continual motions and held Adam there for a while until he grasped his own awareness of the situation. Okay. Adam was fine, if a little delirious, and there wasn't anything keeping him from taking care of him now. Good. He let his cane drop and pushed his hands in to Adam's armpits as he carefully rose, without aid to his feet. Adam wasn't helping, his body limp and wet, sweatpants soaked completely through, but he was light, and manageable with some effort. Poor Adam… Lawrence, once he was standing, and holding him, pressed him tight to his body as a means of support, but also he wanted to feel him, close again. He'd missed him, and felt guilty, as he often did.

“Where’re we goin’,” mumbled Adam in to Lawrence's shoulder.

“Not we—you—you're going to bed,” he said, breathily.

“Alone?” Slurred Adam. “Don’ wanna sleep ‘lone, Law; won' ya come with me?”

Lawrence groaned and started walking, one step at a time, trying to synchronize each one with Adam's uncoordinated feet which seemed to drag more than walk. Under the skin, Lawrence was as exhausted as Adam looked, there was no way he was carrying him across the room, let alone up stairs. Settling back on the couch, Lawrence fell back with a huge sigh. His forehead was dressed with blonde hair out of place. At first glance, one might not tell the difference, they both looked about as sick as each other. “Sure. Whatever.”

Tired… so tired.

Adam rolled his hips, scratched his neck. He was so hot, like there was lava trying to push its way through every pore, and it was unbearable. There was only a slim awareness of his present location and even that drifted in and out of the realms of surreal; edges seemed to vibrate the more his eyes focused on an object, and his head swam with aching throbs of electricity.

“Feel weird,” he said dreamily, leaning his head on the shoulder of the man (which man, where, whocares?) next to him, only to end up slipping and flopping on his side in his lap. It was warm and safe, he never wanted to get up.

“I know, you're forehead is burning,” said Lawrence, stroking Adam's head. “Shh, it's okay. Just sleep it out. Sleep it out and tomorrow you'll be as good as new.”

“‘kay,” said Adam, not quite understanding what he was affirming.

Stiffening in more ways than one, as a result of the close proximity, Lawrence gently lifted Adam's head from his lap and slipped out from under him, then replaced the vacancy with pillows. He whined something in protest, but it was the right thing to do; a pillow would be much more appropriate. Now he was free to care for Adam in a more productive manner. He dug out the discarded sweatshirt and used it to mop the sweaty young man, and make him more comfortable. When he'd done, he made himself more comfortable, in knowing that he'd be sitting with him, all through this, until he got better. He opted to sit with him, as opposed to laying with him as Adam requested. Had this been any other day, his heart would have jumped at such a thought. Sleeping with Adam—lovely, but not today. Not today. There wasn't any chance in hell he'd trust himself again in that situation, especially not with a feverish Adam. He was very needy in this state, and he was fearful he might take his affections to his heart. It was hard watching him, squirming, sweating, moaning in discomfort. Every time Lawrence touched him, he calmed. He didn't want to leave his side for a moment.

It was an hour later when Adam finally fell asleep in to fitful, restless dreams. The pain and the torture, combined with the gripping cold and creeping heat, made it a terrible experience. So much so, that when he awoke, he threw himself, shaking and whimpering in to Lawrence's arms, which clung back in return with their characteristic healing powers.

“Lawrence!” He cried. “Don't leave me—he's—he's here—he's been here all along, we gotta get… we gotta get… away, he's… he’s…”

“Adam!” Said Lawrence firmly, holding Adam's face. “Adam, Adam, it's okay. He's not here—there's no one here… only me… and you…”

Adam calmed at that; wild eyes eased in to the usual storm, and his shallow breathing tapered off. He found himself sitting up, staring in to Lawrence's eyes, full of concern and welcoming kindness. The warm arms around him rocked him back and forth, to a rhythm his heartbeat soon slowed to follow, and when their eyes touched, and their hearts touched, Adam's lips soon followed. He leaned in and kissed him.

Poor Adam, thought Lawrence. The kiss was so faint, it was barely there at all; just a touch of Adam's open lips very slightly against his own, he wasn't even sure it happened at all, that Adam hadn't made it at all before he collapsed against him in another fit of exhaustion. But it did happen, and it filled his eyes with grateful, sweet tears that he didn't even try to hide as he nuzzled against the unconscious boy’s cheek, right before laying him back down, and pulling the blankets back over them both. Right now, he didn't care. He didn't care if Adam had merely been so delirious, so out of it to want to kiss him, all that mattered was that Adam wanted him there. Even if he woke up shouting and screaming, wondering what the fuck Lawrence was doing cuddling with him on the couch, he knew Adam needed him. He was scared, unwell, and he kissed him. There wasn't any other reasoning behind it. He kissed him—tried to—because he was overwhelmed and his brain wasn't in the right place thanks to this goddamn illness. He thought Adam might like to, when he came to, to feel safe and protected again. The fallout would be dealt with in time, and Lawrence could only hope that his fever would burn out before he woke up.

Would Adam remember what he did? Lawrence doubted it. Whatever the case, Adam had had a shitty day, and he was just doing now, what any friend could have; he was being there for him—friend, partner, shoulder to lean on when he felt shaky.

Lawrence closed his eyes and brought his friend as close as he could, entwining legs, chins on shoulders and arms draped and clinging. This was everything and all he wanted. Just himself and Adam. Free from chains but still bound to each other all the same, but not with steel this time.

A lingering thought passed Lawrence's dry lips as he cradled Adam throughout the day and throughout the night: _Poor Adam. It's okay, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere_.


	22. Some Kind Of Warlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam seeks out work in town, while his thoughts revolve more and more around the man we call Lawrence.

Yesterday was a blur for Adam, and waking up in an awkward position with Lawrence cradling him, he was thankful for that. Of course, as soon as Adam started to stir awake, the other man shifted away from him. The heat from his body was pretty intense, and so Adam didn't waste time, sitting up away from him. His head hurt and he was half naked, and could smell the sour odor of sickness glued to his skin. Yes, he remembered now. He remembered being unwell, but it still felt like a dream to him, like the kind of dream one had, woke up, forgot, and then remembered again. Did it even happen? It was still daylight outside, but it wasn't the same day. The last thing he remembered with surety, was that he took a few pictures in the park with Lawrence, then came back, feeling a little weird.

“Was I sick?” Asked Adam, to no one in particular; hang on his head in his hands.

“Yes,” replied Lawrence, roughly, then softer: “don't you remember?”

What was he supposed to remember? Blowing chunks all over the walls? No. It wasn't that kind of sickness. A little too much cold, a little too often. He couldn't wait until they moved out of the freezing, tiny little house. He nodded, remembering the basics.

“You were delirious,” chuckled Lawrence, stroking Adam's back once.

Adam didn't know about all of that, but he certainly felt terrible now—worse than any hangover. It was still like all of the fluids in his brain had slipped in to all the wrong places.

“Here,” said Lawrence, handing him a cup of water.

Funny. Adam didn't even see him leave, but there he was, standing in front of him. If he didn't know better, he'd think Lawrence was some kind of Warlock. _Teleportation is a warlock thing, right_? Disappearing and reappearing with water like some shitty trick. Shaking off the stupid idea, his still-fuzzy mind came back in to focus and he gratefully accepted the water, finding his mouth suddenly very arid.

“Keep your fluids up,” advised Lawrence.

He looked even worse than Adam felt, he thought with some satisfaction. His usually neat hair was messy and his clothes were creased completely. This was the Lawrence he first met—the Lawrence that no one else really saw; gentleman fascade torn away, he was as untidy and unapproachable as any man, especially in the morning. His voice was much rougher, scratchy, and laced with grumpiness. It made him smile. He watched with some amusement (and admiration) as Lawrence dug in his pockets and pulled out a few pills, and swallowed them dry with the same unbearable desperation as an asthma sufferer taking a sweet breath. He was amazed Lawrence was so open with him like this, like he didn't even try to hide the fact that he carried pills in his pockets like some kind of candy hoarding old man. And they looked like candy to him—the pills—he reached out his hand like a panhandler, begging for the sweet pain relief.

Lawrence hesitated, before finally reaching in to his pockets and fishing out a couple and placing them in Adam's hands.

He didn't mind one bit that they'd been in his pockets for who knew how long, he just greedily popped them in to his mouth and took a mouthful of water to wash them down with, before finishing the rest of the water behind it.

“Is that better?” Asked Lawrence, wiping away some water that dribbled down Adam's chin, with the pad of his thumb.

Adam nodded, and sucked in air; he was grateful.

“Are you going to that little studio today to pick up the photos?”

“Yeah, I reckon so,” he said, hunching over and letting his former sleep-state wash away with the pills. Clapping his hands on his knees, he rose. “No sense putting it off.”

With any luck, Adam would have at least acquired some work out of it. But that bothered Lawrence. “Are you sure you're ready to get in to work again, so soon?”

Adam didn't know the answer to that; instead he shrugged and said: “guess we'll find out.”

“Hmm,” said Lawrence, doubtfully.

If Adam wanted to busy himself, then he would stand by him. He just thought that after everything, he might want to just work up slowly. He suspected that he was doing it to spite the old Adam, the Adam that lurked and snapped and did it all over again. It was encouraging, but he didn't want him overdoing it.

Not wasting any more time, Adam needed to get out of the sweaty, worn skin he'd been in, and he headed upstairs to the shower. Like a zombie he undressed and stepped under the hot spray of water. The heaviness on his head began to lighten, but gave him great pain in his ears for the duration of the shower to the point he had to check to make sure blood wasn't coming out of his ears. After scrubbing himself clean he stepped out of the shower, almost slipping on the wet tile before letting himself breathe, and relax. The pains went away, but the aches in his back and shoulders, remnants of his fever, still caused him some minor discomfort. Dressing in plain, but clean jeans, he buttoned up a black shirt with thin blue stripes, and brushed his teeth, feeling much better; he headed downstairs.

Lawrence was sitting there, drinking coffee; he offered Adam a cup.

“Oh, fucking marry me,” groaned Adam, immediately taking the cup of coffee and swallowing down several mouthfuls, to the amusement of Lawrence.

“You know, coffee isn't meant to be drank that way,” he noted, dryly.

After another heavy mouthful, Adam scoffed: “it's either coffee or cigarettes—I can do with quitting the smokes, but coffee? You're asking too much of me, man. Relationships are supposed to be about give and take, not take and take. Would you give up dyeing your hair? No, don't think so.”

“I don't dye—” sighed Lawrence.

“—oh sure, and I'm an award-winning screenwriter…”

“Don't overexert yourself; if you don't have the willpower to quit, go ahead. Go get some cigarettes, smoke your lungs to bits—you do. You do have the power, you've proved that already. Coffee is just a substitute.”

“So is sex, but I know I'm not getting that anytime soon, so…” Adam drank the rest of his coffee in one big gulp, partly to piss Lawrence off, but mostly just because he really needed the jumpstart. _Must be getting old_ , he thought with a bitter laugh. He disposed of the empty cup in the sink and went to shave, it'd been a while and the scruff was starting to show, which was quite a feat on his babyish skin.

Lawrence stayed quiet and sipped his coffee in a dignified manner while he tried not to think too hard about what Adam was saying. While he had been taking his shower, Lawrence had tidied up, dressed and prepared coffee. He was dressed, not for the first time, in a neat white shirt and black dress pants—at least he was consistent.

“Well, I'm outta here,” said Adam, swiftly making for the door.

“Whoa—so soon? I thought we might get something to eat first.”

“We?” Adam scoffed. “Nah, I'm good. I need to go for a walk, clear my head and shit… no offence, but your crippled ass will slow me down—have a break for once, before you break something.”

Lawrence didn't stop him, though he was disappointed; he would have liked to go with Adam, and he was hesitant to admit that he may actually been a hindrance to him. He remembered yesterday, finding himself spending the morning on the park bench, just watching Adam. Wasn't he in the way then? Suddenly he felt old. Not just crippled, but old. There was a sizeable age difference between him and Adam, and he was starting to feel it, confined to single spots while Adam ran around like a coyote on crack. Since he quit smoking, he guzzled coffee and killed lethargy, leaving Lawrence in his dust. Sure, it was a very recent development, but it was an undeniable development, nonetheless; Lawrence cursed his infirmity, he wanted to be there with Adam. He felt like he was on par with him, but his physical imperfections were showing now more than ever. He wanted to get out of the house, but Adam needed his space to do things in his own pace.

Moments before Adam left, the phone rang.

“Hi, Alison,” replied Lawrence.

Adam was in the middle of clipping on the straps of his cameras around his shoulders and looked up when he heard her name. He hadn't forgotten that Alison was still in Lawrence's life, but he was still surprised, he didn't hang around, deciding it'd be best to let them have some privacy.

He left the house with a vague feeling of discontent; he was aware that he was busying himself as soon as he was able, to prevent memories of the night before coming in too vividly. Though, he was fairly sure he didn't have sex with Lawrence… fairly sure (though by Lawrence's stark dismissal of his earlier comment regarding sex, he couldn't be sure), but even so, he preferred not to think about it (if indeed there was an it) if at all possible. The coffee was needed as a means of fuel, to motivate him to get away from the house as quickly as possible and find something to do. Basically, he needed some time alone to think, or not think, as much as he wanted.

However, that proved to be difficult.

Peering inside the little photography shop, Adam was dismayed to find someone in there already, talking to the girl. He urged himself to walk around the block a couple of times. As he did so, thoughts sprang to him, so hard and fast that he started to lock eyes with the cigarette vendor at the other spend of the street. _No… no Adam, come on… you have willpower, you're just bored_ … he came to a stop and leaned against the wall outside the building with his hands in his jacket pockets, huddled away from the cold wind. It wasn't as though he was a coward, but he just didn't want to interrupt. The guy in there was probably just looking to get his photos developed, but, he wasn't in the mood to get in line. He scoffed quietly. _Still a fucking anti-social scumbag at heart, Adam_? He sneered, looking down at the pavement. Quit feeling sorry for yourself. Balls-up and get in there.

Another minute followed, and eventually Adam just decided, fuck it, and he went around the corner to the studio, mainly to avoid the funny glances he was getting. The man had just left and the girl inside could be seen rummaging around. He went inside, with only a little expectation; it was no good for one's self esteem to go charging in all-smiles.

When Adam went inside, the girl gave him a bright smile, clearly she was happy to see him—a first, he thought.

“Oh! It's you!” She said, clapping her hands excitedly.

 _Oh great_ , thought Adam. _This again_.

“I didn't think you'd be here so early, I've barely opened up shop!” She announced with radiant cheer.

“Then who was the guy who was just here? The big bald dude.”

“My dad,” she said, whispering. “Coming to check up on me. He thinks I'm incapable of looking after this place properly. I told him I could so! And I can so, too!”

Immediately, Adam was regretting his decision to come here so early. It was fine in the afternoon when he'd had several cups of coffee—not in the morning, barely alive, still weighing the possibility that maybe, maybe he was having big gay feelings for a guy who had big gay feelings for him, and that he had a gunshot wound in his shoulder, but he didn't feel it anymore, not even on mornings, and that he was still running, still hiding.

“Yeah, are the photographs ready? ‘Cause that's what I'm here for—jobs, maybe, too—if you've got ‘em,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. He ached; for better or worse, he ached, and he was a little queasy—all plausible reasons why he wanted to hurry this little exchange along.

“Oh! Oh yeah, sure,” she said, in a manner that told she had perhaps forgot all about them.

Adam peered after her, watching as she disappeared behind the desk; heard the sound of something unlocking, then saw her reappear holding a file folder, he assumed contained his photographs. He reached over and took them from her hands. As he did so, he caught an odd glint behind her glasses, and relented. “What?”

She was smiling, and her cheeks were a little pink.

More than a little perplexed, Adam warily brought the folder to his side, and eyed her curiously. Again, the look on her face remained unpleasantly knowing, and Adam went from confusion to a jolt of fear as a drop of sweat ran down his neck. What's her deal, now? He asked himself with a clenched jaw. There was something mischievous about it, and he didn't like the possibilities that that brought.

“I… looked at them, like you said, and,” she stopped, looked down and swayed a little, frills of her skirt going around in a spiral before glancing back up. “The guy is pretty interesting-looking. Who is he?”

“Huh, what? I—” Adam stopped. For a while there he had no idea what she was talking about. Obviously, he thought, obviously she was looking at the pictures and… he had almost forgotten about the pictures he took of Lawrence. She was implying something, he gathered, but he was quick to dispel her fantasies. “Ohh, no, no. He's just a guy I live with.”

_Yeah, that worked. Fucking idiot._

“I mean he's my roommate,” he corrected. “I just…” took some pictures. “Can we talk about the pictures, please?” Don't even…

“Oh, sure!” She said giddily, letting it drop.

Adam was thankful, though he knew no matter how much he raked his hand across his face, it couldn't disguise the reddening over his skin. What the hell did it matter? Even if I was fucking him, it's none of her business.

“I liked them,” she said, soberly. “I see a lot of pictures. Like… a lot. But yours are more real and honest, and unpretentious than some; I think we can do business if you're still interested? A few of them would look just lovely on display here. Ooh, this nice one of the old bridge and…”

Adam zoned out, and just muted out the sound of her voice as she went on about bridges, and trees, and gothic architecture, and thought about Lawrence at the house, by himself. Shoulda let him come, he signed internally. He lied, back at the house. Lawrence being disabled had no bearing on his own productivity; he just wanted to get away from him. He was scared, scared of the developing intimacy between him and the older man, and scared of jumping off the edge with both feet, in to the unknown. He wanted to be brave, he wanted to let down the barriers and let him in, but he just… couldn't. Not yet. It was weird; he'd never really thought about being gay before, but, the idea of being apart from Lawrence (as he was presently), became a clogging fear in his throat, making him choke, making him gasp for every last breath.

_Maybe I am. Maybe you are. Fuck. I hate stereotypes. I'll kill Lawrence, I swear…_

That was happening now, he could feel it. Panic. Welling up in his chest, just under his rib cage, a bubble getting larger, quivering with nervous anticipation. He breathed, slowly, in and out, and remembered his little misadventure those few days ago. He recalled beating these fears. He pushed, and pushed down the darkness, swallowed the fear and put on his brave face. All audio came back in to focus, and he was back in the room, though still missing Lawrence.

“… and he says he'll pay sixty-seventy dollars for every qualifying photograph, as the specifications—”

Adam interrupted: “I'm sorry, what are we talking about?”

“The mayor,” she said, not even noticing Adam's arched brow. “The local gazette ran this ad—here, look,” she turned the newspaper to face Adam.

On the page, in a rectangular-shaped advertisement read:  
CALLING ALL PHOTOGRAPHERS—AMATEUR & PROFESSIONAL. THE RT. HON. MAYOR PAUL BANKS IS REQUESTING ASSISTANCE. THE COMING WINTER WILL ONCE AGAIN FREEZE OVER OUR SMALL TOWN. THE INDUSTRIES, SPECIFICALLY THE FISHING INDUSTRIES WILL BE CLOSED THROUGHOUT THE WEEKS LEADING IN TO THE NEW YEAR, AS FROST IS MAKING CONDITIONS DANGEROUS. BUT LET US NOT BE DISHEARTENED, GOOD FOLKS! HELP IS REQUIRED IN LIGHTENING THE MOOD! AN EXHIBIT ENTITLED: WINTER SCENES, WILL BE ON DISPLAY IN FOUR WEEKS TIME. THE EXHIBIT WILL FEATURE EXACTLY ONE-HUNDRED FRAMED PHOTOGRAPHS OF THE NATURAL BEAUTY OF WINTER IN THE LOCAL AREA. ALL PHOTOGRAPHS MUST BE SUBMITTED TO THE SPECIFICATIONS LISTED BELOW, AT THE ADDRESS LISTED BELOW, BY THE DATE ALSO LISTED. LET US LIFT SPIRITS TOGETHER.

“Now, I saw some of the pictures you took, and it seems to me, that you already qualify for at least a couple of entries! But it's up to you—I don't see there being many people in town who even own a camera! Let alone spotted that tiny ad to know about it. Do you think you might want to take part? Because there's a thousand-dollar prize for the top photograph.”

“Gee, I'm not sure,” said Adam, spreading out some of his own photographs on the tabletop between them. It was true that there were a few he'd taken around the area, but hardly any of them had any kind of winter influence, other than being taken in winter. “I've not really done that kind of thing before…”

“Oh, I'm sure you'll get the hang of it. It gets real cold around this time. They did a similar thing last year but there wasn't really much of a turnout. I guess they didn't learn… right now, your probably the only picture-taker in town. Anyone else usually leaves for the winter, since most of he businesses close. You'd be a sure hit for winner! And hey—even if you don't win, you'll have enough attention to get any number of jobs here in town! It's a win-win!”

What else could he do?

“Yeah, alright,” he said, scratching his chin, “I guess… I guess I could do something a little later… I'm—we’re—sort of, moving… like to an apartment. And I'm just getting over a cold, so…” pussy, quit stalling. “I don't know. It sounds like an idea. What about those other jobs you mentioned?”

Clapping her hands, she went about showing Adam a pamphlet, for a hardware store. It was mostly blank, and well, pretty terrible. She didn't even need to explain to Adam the problems with it.

“Jesus,” he said, unamused. “What the hell is this fresh tragedy?”

It was plain white, with black text in some awfully garish font depicting the name and address of the hardware store and containing a few advertisements about what kind of work they did. Adam didn't even want to handle the clip-art nightmare; pinching it between two fingers like it was a wet diaper, he looked at it.

“Yeah… poor guy. His son died last March, and h-he let his standards slip. He came to me asking for help about creating a nicer pamphlet for him. But, like I said, I have no skill at all with a camera, and I'm stuck in this shop all day! Its easy, all you gotta do is go to his store—Trevor, his name is—and tell him you're there to help. Just take pictures of the store—”

“—make it look good, got it,” he said with a nod.

“Wow, you are sharp,” she said, adding a wink. “Pay is two-hundred dollars, for one completed pamphlet. I’m a nice girl, so I think we'll split it, yeah? You bring the pictures next week, and I'll do the rest—I’m queen of Photoshop.”

“Sounds easy enough,” he said with a shrug. “Okay. I can do that. Trevor's Hardware.”

“Oh, good!” She said with a huge sigh of gratitude. “I've been putting it off for days!”

Adam nodded and handed over the desk, a few folded bills to pay her for the work in developing the photographs. He was eager to get out of there, and did not have the patience to listen to any more. Yet, she raised her hand, refusing his money.

“Keep your money, we’ll call it an advance—I usually give first-time customers a discount anyway,” she giggled and waved him off.

Left with the choice of either pocketing the money or giving it her, he chose the former, with some guilt. “Hey, you said you might wanna buy a few of these,” he held up the short stack of photographs. It was easier to do a trade-off, since he wasn't so attached to the pictures he'd taken, plus it would ease some awkwardness. He managed to sell a few, and came out of it fifty-five dollars richer.

It felt good. He wanted to celebrate.

First, however, he needed to get back to Lawrence; he'd been gone too long already. Of course, he would have liked to go ahead to the hardware store and help out the old guy there, but he just wanted to check in first. He was uncomfortable with the way he left that morning, without a real goodbye. Before that, he passed the hardware store.

A real old-looking building that might have been a barn once upon a time. The windows were extremely dusty and the display lacking in finesse. He wanted to just go right on by, but he stopped walking the moment he let it out of his sight.

“Just do it,” he told himself with a roll of his eyes.

So he did.

It didn't take him more than half an hour to get inside and talk to the guy, who Adam thought looked about a thousand years old (though he was assisted by his two sons, who were far less ancient). Once he was seen entering with his camera, Adam was greeted by Trevor, the old man, who had a surprisingly strong grip.

“Yeah, hi, I'm here for—”

“Yeah, it's about time,” coughed the old man. “I've been wondering when someone was going to show up. I'm no good with computers or cameras, or that kind of technology,” he said, holding up a ball peen hammer. “I prefer the old kind.”

Yeah, I bet, thought Adam.

Trevor was in truth, only about sixty-five, but his leathered features and working-man’s hands made him look much older. He stood about Adam's modest stature, however with a crooked back, so when standing straight, he was most likely the taller.

He explained briefly to Adam, his difficulty with these young designers and their efforts to modernize his appearance. Adam told him that it didn't matter, he would just do what he was told, which made him laugh.

“That's good, because I don't take orders from kids,” he said.

Adam rolled his eyes, out of sight, on his knees while he was taking pictures of the window display. He didn't see what was so hard about this. All he needed to do was take a few dozen photos, check them over later and pick out the best ones. The old man seemed tired, which meant that he was keeping off Adam's back about things, which was good. In all he took about one hundred photos—a small number when it came down to it. Probably only a dozen or so we're any good. Whatever. Job done.

It was the kind of thing he liked about his job. He could make up whatever hours he wanted. And now he was ready to go home before he started getting angry.

 

When he arrived back at the house, he went through his usual, brief hesitation before opening the door. He expected there to be some kind of welcome, whether it be cold or otherwise. However, when he walked in, he found Lawrence smiling, which he had expected. But this was a different smile. He was sitting, and on the floor in front of him were Adam's clothes, and in his hands was a photograph.

Adam froze on the spot, because he knew what it was. How could he have forgotten he'd left it in his pants? He let out a sigh, blinked and stiffly walked over and sat next to him.

For a long time neither man said anything to each other. They just remained in each other's presence, aware that there was a few things between them that needed saying.

“I didn't mean to,” said Lawrence suddenly, shifting to turn and face the other man. “I was gathering the clothes to wash—it was easier here than over in the kitchen, standing—and this fell out,” he said, waving the very creased photograph; turning it over and looking at the cryptic symbol on the back. “I almost forgot about this. Walking in to your apartment, I found this, among others, and it… well, it stopped me dead. I didn't know whether you'd ever return, but I hoped you would, and I knew you'd probably want to find me. And I wanted you to find me… but I had to leave. This photo… seeing it scared me… looking at a part of me that no longer existed. I was about to tear it up, when I decided upon the idea of,” he scoffed at his own story. “Leaving you that message; it was stupid, but the only thing I could think of.”

“Did you know?” He asked, patting Adam's knee. “It was the first day out of the hospital. I was being chased by police who wanted to question me, still. I worked that wheelchair to the point of unconsciousness… a part of me expected to find you there… the optimist.”

Adam sniffed and shook his head. “No, no… forget all that shit now, man. You can rip it up if you want—I certainly don't need any reminders—just rip it up and burn it.”

“Don't you think you're being dramatic?” Asked Lawrence with a raised eyebrow.

Rising, Adam snatched the photograph from the man's hands, in a very spontaneous manner. He was about to rend it to shreds there and then, but he couldn't. For some reason, he couldn't. He just looked at it, and stared at the minuscule pixels of blacks grays and whites and just… couldn't do it. He wanted to. Instead, he just set the thing down in Lawrence's lap.

Quizzically watching Adam's face for some sort of emotion, and finding non, Lawrence reached out and took his hand instead.

“See?” He said warmly. “Told you you were being dramatic.”

Eyes locked.

Adam's fingers twitched; inside himself came a surge of warmth that rushed through him like a rolling wave, pleasant and fulfilling. It was a feeling Adam didn’t experience often, if ever. Dropping most of his equipment, Adam, seemingly in a trance, decided it might be a good idea if he climbed on to Lawrence's lap, so he did, knees either side of the other man's and hands on his shoulders. He didn't know what the hell he was doing, but it felt right. _Never thought I'd say that_ , he thought. But as right as it felt, he seriously had no idea what the fuck he was doing… no idea.

“Adam, what're you—?” Lawrence stammered, eyes wide, hands high and clear.

With his own eyes wide, Adam swallowed loudly. It was now or never.

Disregarding Lawrence's pleading eyes, and his difficulty in holding Adam's weight, Adam leaned in close—too close.

Nervous, stuttering breaths mingled in the tiny space between their mouths. Looks of desperation shared between two pairs of wild eyes. Adam closed the distance, his heart thudding in his chest, and without the true awareness of whether he was doing this for himself or for Lawrence. It didn't matter. With eyes closed, he pressed his lips very tentatively to the side of Lawrence's, letting go of a very shaky breath in a half-laugh.

Lawrence's fingers had dug tightly in to the backs of the couch, his jaw set tighter and his head in a daze, swimming with that grand old feeling of melancholy. He wanted Adam, oh, boy, did he ever. But the residual guilt from their previous encounter had him not only hesitating, but noncompliant. He wasn't going to do anything Adam would later regret—his own feelings be damned.

The younger man could feel Lawrence's arousal between them, and his own was growing—something he never thought would happen knowingly with another man. Lawrence was different. Through some sick twist of fate they had become eternally entwined in each other's formerly very different lives, and Adam was well aware of that. He hated that if it wasn't for one morphed individual with a sad excuse for living, then he wouldn't have ever really gotten to know him. It sucked. This, whatever this was, didn't exactly make up for it, but Adam had been warped from what he went through—Lawrence, too—who's to say this wasn't how things would have gone without that evil intervention?

“Adam…” said Lawrence warily; he saw the way Adam's pupils had dilated, and where his hands were moving to. If Adam did this, he didn't think his resistance would hold out.

Adam couldn't hear; slowly, but with direct precision, his hands pressed down against the front of Lawrence's pants. Jesus, he thought with an odd sort of satisfaction. He's hard… like really hard. I did that? I did that. For some reason, that felt good. Flattery; he didn't receive it, nor did he accept it without some sort of bitter bite in return. But this… this he could deal with. It wasn't like he didn't know what to do; he'd handled dicks before, this was nothing new. The fact that it was Lawrence's, kept him from going too far, too soon. His mouth sought out Lawrence's again, failed (he moved to the side and ended up kissing his cheek) and tried again, only for Lawrence to turn his head away on both occasions. The one time Adam got to kiss him, Lawrence was feebly trying to say his name.

“What? Adam stop,” he mumbled, finally clamping his hands to Adam's arms and holding him back.

Whining out loud with unmistakable cry of frustration and anger, Adam climbed off of Lawrence's lap and stormed away; with nowhere to go, he came back to Lawrence with a pleading woe. “Are you serious? You either want me or you don't. You think it's easy? Y-you think it was easy for me to get this far in to you that I could do this? I-I thought you wanted me, and you looked down… so what the hell?”

Lawrence let out a sigh and he shook his head.

“Adam, no,” he said, carefully trying to dissuade Adam from jumping to conclusions as quickly as he could. “I do. I do want you, but not like this.”

Sitting down next to him with a exasperated slump, Adam crossed his arms.

“I would prefer if this was something that you wanted; not something you want to do because you want to make someone else happy—”

“—and how do you know it's not what makes me happy, huh?” Spat Adam, facing forward. “Just because you've got a fucking bug in your bonnet about hooking up doesn't mean I—”

Lawrence interrupted: “Bee, Adam. The expression is…” he stopped; Adam clearly didn't care about that. His knee was bouncing up and mown nervously. Lawrence couldn't stop his hand from laying on top of it. “What did you get up to today?”

“Really?” Adam scoffed, looked at Lawrence. “You're just gonna… whoosh, none of this ever happened? Oh, ‘poor Adam, he's too weak-minded to know what he really wants anyway, best to just forget it.’ Isn't that right, Lawrence?”

“Don't be a child,” said Lawrence, with the beginnings of a smile; his arousal lessening. “Now, tell me: how was your day?”

Adam sighed, and gave up, he wanted to do something, but Lawrence was obviously not falling for it. If he preferred talking over free, cheap, emotionally detached sex, then… maybe he really did care about him. He wanted to apologize, for misjudging Lawrence's intentions with him, but he was too pissed off.

“You wanna know? Really?” He asked, rubbing he back of his head, feeling foolish.

“Yes,” said Lawrence, without a trace of falseness. “That’s why I asked.”

Adam nodded, “fine. It… I-it went well,” he arched his back, stretched and reached his hand in to his back pocket and pull out a few bills. “Got paid. Went about as well as it could go if you count money as being the prime motivator is what makes a day worth living,” he said, still shaking, still hiding his eyes.

“And what do you think?” Asked Lawrence, sitting there sat up, with his hands together in his lap.

Leaning back and tossing the money to the side, Adam put his hands behind his back and reclined—falsely casual, playing the game, though he was never quite cool enough to pull-off being casual, he was too stressed. “I think,” he said, delaying. “I think that I've been blue-balled and you're trying to distract me, so I feel less fucking stupid. Now I'm going to have to go upstairs and rub one out because my asshole roommate decides to not be in a sharing mood—find, whatever,” he stood, and looked down at Lawrence.

Lawrence only sat there and waved his hand. “Please, don’t let me stop you.”

With a disbelieving huff, Adam went ahead, true to his word and stomped up the stairs, leaving Lawrence there by himself.

And he wanted to stop him, despite his words; Adam was awfully difficult to get along with at times, but he very much preferred his company over anything else in the world. Instead, he sat there, biting his knuckles, trying hard to picture anything else in the world rather than Adam Faulkner, upstairs, spread eagled on the bed, jerking off… or a ridiculously horny Adam, climbing in to his lap, practically begging for sex. _No, no, no… mustn't think about that, not at all…_

Adam couldn't think at all.

Nine and a half minutes of laying there, his pants open and his shirt halfway up his stomach, hand stuffed in his underwear, and nothing. His erection suffered and became nothing more than a penis, boring and limp. With a huge sigh he pulled his hand out and just flopped, as limp as his dick, against the bed. He didn't really need to jack off; he just wanted to get Lawrence hot and bothered. Why? It wasn't like he had to, Lawrence was already hard from what he had felt—

_Felt… Jesus, oh fucking fuck. I touched his fucking cock, what the fuck…_

_Must be some kind of Warlock, thought Adam_.


	23. White Rabbits And Lost Socks

Adam's restlessness grew; even involved in a number of projects, he was always searching for that something that could just… sit him down and say ‘whoa, Adam, you're alright now; there's no one out there trying to get you. You can rest now.’ But Adam didn't listen to any voices in his head anymore. Lawrence told him those things all the time, but it was still hard, accepting comfort from a man who'd lost a hell of a lot more.

It had been a day, and Adam's humiliation over coming on to Lawrence had subsided. He was getting used to it; the reckless something, the heated fallout followed by the neural equilibrium. It was like clockwork. One of them did something stupid (usually Adam), give it some time, all was well again. In fact, the cool down period between the stupid and the normally, was becoming shorter and shorter. Adam was getting braver, getting the feeling that Lawrence would never go a day without getting over it.

Lawrence was still reluctant to touch him, and Adam was frustrated about that. He was starting to rely on the gentle kindness and he missed it. It was unlike him, but, being so isolated from everyone but Lawrence, Adam grew knowingly needy. He enjoyed teasing him, and even that morning, he tried to goad him in to wrestling with him.

“This is the longest I've gone without sex,” said Adam, topically.

“Fascinating,” said Lawrence, with zero patience for this.

They were walking together, one side of the bedroom to the other, over and over again. Adam's arm was threaded through Lawrence's for support.

Lawrence was straining (it was always the hardest in the morning) to keep up with his steps, and Adam was irrefutably a merciless personal trainer. Sweat stained through his shirt and blonde locks hung wetly over his eyes. It was at times like these that he really hated Adam; walking, making it look so easy to put one foot in front of the other, then berating him for not being able to do the same. He wasn't harsh, but with his snide little digs, he managed to develop a sense of fond annoyance at the younger man.

“Can't wait to get out of here,” said Adam, shaking his head as they turned together to do another cross-section of the small room.

“Yes,” panted Lawrence. “But you have to be patient, Adam. The new apartment isn't fully furnished until tomorrow.”

Almost gleeful at the thought of finally getting out of the cramped, second prison, Adam smiled. The apartment was pretty nice; spacious enough for Lawrence to not be bombarded by corners or clutter underfoot, and it was pretty modern, which served as a bonus for city boys like him. It was located just on the other edge of town, where there were some law offices and the police department. He'd visited the day before with Lawrence, who decided beforehand that it was the right place for them. Three bedrooms (one for Adam, one for Lawrence, and one for Diana when they were all in the clear and she came to visit) and one bathroom, with a sizeable living room and attached kitchen as the main area. There was even a couple of closets, that Adam hoped would be chained and barricaded.

“Yes,” he exclaimed, in a sort of prayer. “Finally… I'll be able to jerk it in private and not have to worry about shooting up your back I'm the middle of the night.”

Lawrence grimaced; he was very, very aware of Adam's sexual frustration, and knew full-well that (with their lack of privacy) he hadn't masturbated once in his time there. The one time Lawrence performed sexual favors for him appeared to be a one-time thing, and he planned to keep it that way. He wouldn't, however, dare to risk encouraging Adam to go at it—not with how it ended up last time. Adam was getting braver though.

“Please, don't talk about that,” breathed Lawrence.

Finally, Adam gave up and let Lawrence sit on the edge of the bed. Yeah, he got it. He was just making a joke, but Lawrence didn’t like that sort of humor, plus he was just as frustrated as he was—if not more—he would probably jump at the chance of sucking his cock again if presented with the opportunity…

“So…”

“No, Adam,” said Lawrence, staring firmly at him.

Adam grinned, hands on his hips. “You don't even know what I was gonna say…”

“Yeah, I think I do,” he said slowly, still catching his breath while running his hands back through his hair. “You're bored, as usual. Horny, like always. And the gotta-get-the-best-shot opportunist that is you, thought you might get me in to bed while I'm still too weak to have perfect judgement. Is that near enough?”

Adam blinked. “No, that was… pretty much it.”

Lawrence's eyes followed him as he flopped down next to him, but unlike him, once sat, fell on his back. He tried not to look at the exposed skin of his stomach or the way his chest rose and fell, but failed miserably. A pang of sympathy grew in him for the poor man. He found himself slowly laying back next to him and joined him in staring at the ceiling, fingers knitted together over his stomach.

Adam's own hands were behind his head. He briefly looked over at the other man, before sighing through his nose, squirming a little and returning to staring up. Things were… weird. “Lawrence?”

“Yes, Adam.”

“Can anyone blame us.” He moved on to his side, leaning on one elbow to look over at him, but not really looking, if he had, he would have seen the nervous fluttering of Lawrence's eyelashes. “I mean… two survivors are more likely to… get together than any strangers—statistically, right?

“It's not _healthy_ , Adam,” sighed Lawrence. “Yes, it's not unusual, _common_ , even, but any psychologist with a baby's degree would tell you us even becoming friends is a mistake. We'd lean, too much on each other, close ourselves off to society and become unable to function as productive members of the public, not knowing how to integrate again to normal day-by-day living if all we have for support are crazies just like us.”

Adam scoffed, “that's bullshit. We're functioning, aren't we? We're not… like all Stockholm Syndrome trying to do weird shit, are we? What's wrong with leaning? Most people would kill for someone to lean on to, even if they as fucked up as them. ‘Snot so bad,” Adam began to rock his leg side to side, deliberately bumping against the other's. “Being closer. Besides,” he sniffed. “There isn't any psychologists coming near my head with a forty-foot pole, so I'm good to do whatever I want without some asshole digging around inside there every two weeks for a hundred dollars an hour.”

Lawrence chuckled, “oh, I'm sure they'd have a field-day.”

“Damn right,” said Adam. “More shit going on with me than anyone can deal with—even before, before all this shit.”

Silence.

“Why are you doing this?” Asked Adam, when the silence was at unbearable levels. “Like… I can't even have a fucking _girlfriend_ for more than six months, and non of them had the connection to me that you have, and you're still here? You must be fucking weird, man.”

“Must be,” groaned Lawrence, sitting up.

The more Adam thought about it, the more confused he was. Lawrence could have gotten rid of him by now, if he wanted to, but apparently, he didn’t want to. He wasn't used to this constant in his life, this real graspable anchor that wasn't going anywhere—and he'd tried. He'd been an asshole to Lawrence, as he was to a lot of people, but he was like a wall to his insults, often firing back with a solid gold line that Adam couldn't come close to scratching. Thus, he was mostly impervious to his usual repellent ways, and that was new for Adam. He watched as Lawrence sat there, disappointed that he wouldn't continue resting there with him and strangely lonely all of a sudden.

“W-wait,” said Adam, sitting up after him.

Lawrence looked back; Adam sat up with him, and set his hand on his shoulder. The simple touch meant so much, coming from someone who didn't touch without good reason. He looked at him, and offered a weak smile for comfort.

“It's alright,” said Adam, reaching around him and squeezing his shoulder briefly. “Don't worry: you're not as unbearable as you think. In fact, I'm impressed you've stuck around me as long as you have. I'm not an easy man to like. I made my wife's life hell. Why do you want to stick around with me?”

Adam shrugged, “fucked-up attracts fucked-up apparently.”

They looked at each other; smiled.

“Yes it does,” said Lawrence, quietly.

It was Adam who leaned in first, setting his hand at the other side of Lawrence's thigh and moving so very close. His breath came out short and with nervousness, which stopped for a moment entirely—from both men—as Adam brushed his lips ever so slightly against those full lips of the other man. Surprised pleasantly by the softness and warmness, Adam closed his eyes and just held the position, his head swimming with possibilities he never knew existed. Not daring to open his eyes for the fear that he might freak out at the sight of a very un-female presence, he applied more pressure, and kissed Lawrence with a greater assertion. It was weird, but not in a bad way; his lips moved blindly against his, pressing, turning, sliding, smoothing… it was dreamlike and wonderful. Adam suddenly felt ridiculously giddy, like a schoolgirl making it for he first time. He pulled away, unable to suppress the urge to chuckle nervously.

“Are you alright?” Lawrence's own muted laugh asked.

After the kiss, Lawrence remained close, with his blonde head pressed against the side of Adam's head and his chin on his shoulder. When Adam nodded, his smile grew and he pressed his arm further around him, securing the younger man firmly to his side. He seemed alright, Lawrence thought, but one could never be too sure with Adam. He wanted to tell Adam he loved him, but he didn't want to rush and scare him.

“Yeah,” breathed Adam, still nodding; he looked at Lawrence and held the gaze. “Yeah, I'm… I’m fine. I'm not gonna… freak out and run away like a little girl again. Fuck…”

“That's good,” Lawrence laughed gently, pulled Adam to him and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “One step at a time, right?”

Adam nodded, “‘kay.”

Remaining there for a few minutes, neither man was quite sure what exactly they were to each other, but neither man moved, nor stopped smiling for that period of time until Lawrence advised Adam his leg was going to sleep and he needed to walk it off. They got up together, helping each other as they often did, with Adam there for support, still with the tingling ghost of a kiss pleasantly sighing over his mouth like a warm breeze. It wasn't long before Adam decided that he missed the feeling, and he tried to kiss Lawrence again on the way down the stairs, only to be politely denied the small gratitude thanks to Lawrence's firm determination to stay on his feet and not crack his skull open trying to navigate the stairs. Adam swiftly let the idea drop, when he almost dropped Lawrence, and the pair then continued, as though nothing had ever happened.

 

“Adam. You don't have anything to pack, what is possibly taking so long?”

Standing in the doorway of the bedroom, Lawrence looked down with an expression mixed with amusement and perplexity. Adam was on his belly on the floor, t-shirt riding half way up his back as he scrambled along the floor, looking under the bed, reaching under the dresser, for an unseen something that was apparently important enough to stall the big move to the apartment on the other side of town.

Ignoring him, Adam launched half of his upper body under the bed with a startling urgency.

It was the next day, and even though they had days to prepare, Adam still insisted he had forgotten something and was making damn sure he searched every corner of the house until he found it. They had no real belongings, the furniture was old and overused; Lawrence had the new apartment fully furnished well in advance, and had been on the phone several times over the last few days. Meanwhile, Adam stuck to his meagre-paying hobby, and busied himself throughout much of the day, which prompted Lawrence in to taking more action with providing more stability in their lives. Adam had completed three assignments since the last one, and had even casually began taking pictures for entry in to the winter exhibit, something he only had a passing interest in—if not for the money, he wouldn't have put he effort in at all.

“None of your damn business,” grunted Adam, finally emerging, not having found what he was looking for. He sat there on his knees and sighed heavily. “A sock, alright.”

Lawrence raised an eyebrow, “a sock.”

“Yes, a sock—a sock— _a fucking sock_ , what's so hard to understand about that?” Spat Adam, as he rose and ran a hand through his hair; his face was very red and he was breathing heavily. Evidently, he was missing more than just a sock, and as poor excuse as it was, he was sticking to it until Lawrence clued on to his game.

“Do you really need—”

“Yes!” Exclaimed Adam, putting his hands on his hips. “Yes, I really need it—it's… really important, alright?” He stopped his ranting, realizing how crazy he must sound to Lawrence. He began to pace the room, both hands on the back of his head like he was a convict marching. He just couldn't believe he'd lost—(no, not lost—misplaced) misplaced—something so meaningful.

“Do you need any help?” Asked Lawrence, calling his bluff. _No one makes this much noise over a sock for christ’s sake_! His suspicion was that Adam would say no—he didn't need help, meaning he was looking for something else, something he didn't want him involved with. Then again, it was Adam, and Adam had a tendency to overact. He could very well be looking for an insignificant thing, making it seem extremely important with his irrational desperation, but Lawrence very much doubted that.

“No,” practically screamed Adam, throwing his hands down.

_Suspicions confirmed_ , thought Lawrence.

“Just… leave me alone; go downstairs and I'll—I'll be there, eventually. I just gotta make sure I find this thing—this fucking sock,” said Adam, breathing, talking slower; trying his best to appear as though he wasn't totally insane. “Gimme a break…”

Nodding warily, Lawrence walked his way out of the room, using his cane every step of the way, now with an easy but graceless stride. The stairs were always trouble; choosing an apartment with only an elevator was a big part of the decision-making when he selected a more appropriate place to live. It would be much easier for him to navigate independently with no stairs at all involved, and now that he was more mobile, he could make it happen. Presently, he gripped the guardrail with white-knuckled tension, and much of the same with his charcoal-black skull-tipped cane, which he rather liked, despite its garish qualities. Without being aware of exactly what Adam was so adamant to find, Lawrence sat down heavily on the couch. Next to him was Adam's sole bag; a small zip-lock backpack. Neither of them had much to take, as Adam arrived with practically nothing and had obtained very little since—the bag being a recent purchase, itself, paid for with Adam's own newly acquired money. Lawrence had slightly more, with heavier clothes and a number of documents and personal items. His suitcase was brown leather and sat on the floor in front of him, packed to capacity and lacking nothing. Idly, Lawrence wondered if Adam's missing ‘sock’ might be found in one of their bags. As much as he hated unpacking all of his things again, there was the niggling feeling that maybe, maybe it was.

Reaching for the zip, he pulled the suitcase closer to him, and then stopped.

“What are you doing?” He said to himself, quietly. “You know there isn't anything in here.”

He sighed and left the suitcase alone, to rest his chin in his hands. His eyes, wondered off to the side, and to look upon Adam's bag. It was sitting there, tempting him with its presence, taunting him to go rummaging through Adam's personal belongings. Of course, he _couldn't_ do that… then again, Adam had been pretty frantic upstairs, perhaps he had just forgot that he packed it away with all of his things. He was aware that Adam was eager to leave the place for a larger living space, and he might just have grabbed everything he could without really paying attention.

Lawrence shrugged; he'd wait it out for as long as Adam needed. There was no rush.

Closing his eyes, Lawrence thought. The new apartment would be large enough for them to not need to share a bed as they had been doing every night, and that was the one thing that Lawrence knew he was no going to be too grateful for. He liked sleeping with Adam. Sometimes, when he lay awake, he would ease himself behind Adam, and carefully put an arm around him until he could fall asleep. It wasn't that weird, he told himself. Adam, even though he slept with his back to him and nothing happened between them, Lawrence would awake to find Adam much closer, either with an arm or a leg drooping over his body. It always warmed his heart to wake up like that. He would miss it greatly.

Again, with his eyes moving towards the bag, Lawrence sat up straight. Adam was taking his time, he really was. Maybe he found a new world in the closet, he thought with a smile; remembering the fantastic stories he used to read to Diana. He then chuckled at the mental image of Adam falling in to a realm of wonder and fantasy; imagining him shouting and swearing at the most innocent, wondrous things… maybe this thing Adam was searching for, maybe it was a white rabbit.

Whatever it was, he hoped he found it soon.

Adam panted. He was sure he'd packed it— _how could he not_? Taking a step back from the panic, he sat upon the bed and exhaled, let the collected tension slowly drag from his relatively clean lungs. It was the fucking cigarettes, he decided; ever since he quit, he'd been experiencing a wide range of emotions. So much so, that he imagined himself to be in one of those shitty feminine hygiene commercials, crying at nothing, screaming at the slightest provocation, wanted Lawrence desperately… it was all because of the cigarettes.

“Maybe this is really me,” he asked himself.

_Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, Adam._

“Fuck,” he whispered.

He remembered. He remembered where he left the fucking thing.

Didn't Adam think he'd notice? Lawrence noticed everything about him. Every minor detail about him was locked in his brain as something of utmost importance to him. So, when he saw the younger man coming slowly striding down the stairs, a single sock in his clenched fist, he noticed—of course he did. He did not just happen to find that nasty old thing in the bedroom where a mere five minutes ago he had searched the place from top to bottom. Adam had taken off his shoe and slipped the sock off his foot, and replaced the shoe. He wasn't an idiot, but apparently Adam thought he might get away with it. It was adorable, so adorable that Lawrence couldn't bear to bring it up. He let Adam be, and offered only a slight smile and a nod as Adam waltzed in front of him to show off the sock so that it appeared his supposed search wasn't in vain.

He waved the thing, with a triumphant grin, and mission successful, he unzipped his backpack, kept his back to Lawrence and dug the sock inside, while discreetly feeling for the well-buried item. He thought he had got away with it.

“Yes!” He hissed, complimenting the find with a not-so subtle fist pump.

“Did you say something?” Asked Lawrence, smiling broadly.

“Huh?” Adam bolted. “No, no, man—forget it. It's all good now.”

Lawrence could hear the slight mischief in his voice—Adam was up to something. This wasn't about a sock, it was never about a stupid sock. But, being the kind of man he was, Lawrence let Adam have this tiny victory, since it apparently meant so much to him that he felt he needed to lie to him to achieve it. Besides, there were other things on his mind.

Number one: the move; now that Adam had prepared himself, there was nothing at all stopping them from leaving then and there. Having already notified the FBI and local police contact (so that their whereabouts could be tracked, should they need to be contacted in case of an emergency), the only thing left to do was to literally get up and go. He'd even informed Alison of this change of venue, and left a number with her as to where he might be contacted if she needed, though he would most likely call her (or rather, Diana) when he was settled in to their new place. Diana told him to tell Adam she said hi—he did.

Number two: his attraction to Adam had not in the least bit diminished; the flame burned even brighter, softer and warmer. Ever since his confession, he was surprised to find that Adam didn't completely disband their friendship. Better still, Adam was oddly accommodating—he'd never, ever thought that Adam would want to reciprocate, but he had kissed him, and it was wonderful, if a little shyly done. Adam had kissed him, and hadn't freaked out. If it was a sympathetic action, he'd certainly not be nearly as happy about it afterwards, but Adam was perfectly normal (if such a word could be applied to him) in the wake of it. It led Lawrence to think that Adam may be more than a little curious as to the kind of things he might be able to do with another man.

“Well then,” said Lawrence. “Shall we get going?”

Adam smiled, “fuck yes. Let's get the hell out of this… quaint little craphole.”

And Adam couldn't wait—no more squeezing in to a tiny bed with a guy almost old enough to be his father (though he was much better looking); no more shaving over a sink; no more lugging Lawrence up and down dangerous stairs… It all sounded very much heavenly to Adam. He didn't miss his old apartment, as it had some terrible memories permanently applied to it, this time he could create a life a little better than his shitty old one, with someone who had the capacity and patience to be a companion comparatively more supportive than a jar of lube. He grabbed his backpack and almost leapt for the door.

“Whoa there,” said Lawrence, struggling to move with his own bag.

Looking back at the other man, Adam smiled and relented, “oops, sorry man.., lemme…”

Adam lifted Lawrence's bag and took a slow pace out of the house so that they could walk together. No need for a moving van—all they owned was at-hand, and with no car between them (Lawrence's was confiscated by the FBI as a means to obtain possible DNA evidence on one of his stalkers), they had to walk. Thankfully it wasn't far, and it gave Lawrence some time to admire the harbor and see his boat one more time as they passed.

 

Nightfall came quickly during the hour the pair spent having dinner at a small wharf side restaurant. The conversation was light and Adam was inelegantly vocal, bringing a much-needed atmosphere of swaying calm, like the waves rolling back and forth. They ate only a little in between, but it was an overall enjoyable experience that had both men smiling as they continued towards the apartments.

It was right by the beach, which if not for the small size and high sea level, would have made the building more of a hotel. It was about seven stories high and comprised of three buildings, a tidy garden at the centre with a water fountain. They walked the cobblestone path around the modest water feature and towards their building.

Although he'd visited once before when Lawrence had wanted his opinion on the place, he was impressed with all the lights that were now being switched on, it becoming dark. It was sheer light pollution; but it made him feel at home, somehow. Was he going to draw comparisons between this place, and his own place? It was inevitable, but he told himself to not let it despoil his opinion and corrupt what has the possibility of being a nice little life.

The hospital was nearby too, where Lawrence would be starting work in a few weeks.

Lawrence hit his limit of physical capability as they went on through to the elevator. A young man in a brown uniform took his bag upstairs for him with a polite smile, he didn't ask for a tip but Lawrence gave him a little something anyway to show his gratitude. The elevator was just the generic mirrored box; brass handrail, command console. Inside, Lawrence hot the number for their floor and held on to the rail as he machinery rattled the gears and they ascended upwards, deeper in to the jungle of steel and glass.

Saying very little, aside from the occasional sniff or breath, Adam's leg bounced nervously, betraying his cool exterior. This was a pretty big thing—moving on. He held his breath for he duration of the ride, and let it out as a huge exhale the moment after the announcement bell told them they'd arrived at the correct floor.

Lawrence looked at him, assuming his unease; touching his arm, said, “are you ready?”

Clenching his jaw, Adam nodded, and said, “yep. Let's do it.”

As much as he seemed eager to do this, he really was nervous about it. Lawrence understood that Adam had had much instability in his life. Something always seemed to be a concern, because it money, employment, relationships, he'd never really been on solid footing, never had the financial security to plant his feet without worrying about breaking the thin surface of his fragile existence. Adam barely survived the last life. Lawrence, who’d had the things Adam sought, had barely made it either. It brought perspective to him. They had many differences, true, but they were both human, and could both be taken to the limits and survive… it helped Lawrence remember that Adam was remarkably experienced in coping with hardships, compared to himself, Adam had seen some shit. He needed Adam.

Together they walked down the soft-tiled hallway.

It was dark but lit by a series of wall sconces placed on the left side of each door and dim overhead fixtures in the ceiling. There was only three other apartments on the floor, and each one was next to the other, going all the way down the hallway to the end, where a large window looked out on the sea.

_Alice in to the rabbit hole_ , thought Lawrence as they moved on, towards the door that led to their apartment. It wasn't nearly as glamorous as the hotels he'd spent nights in with women, and in fact seemed more rundown on the inside as it did on the outside, and while no skyscraper, it was a little piece of the outside world that the small town had kept well hidden from the casual observer.

Inserting the key in the door, Adam twisted a few times (it got stuck; pulled it out, tried again) and unlocked the door.

At first, there wasn't a sense of home that Lawrence usually had. It was a large space, furnished with all the things he'd bought and paid for. It looked nice enough with the dark blue wallpaper and white borders, blue carpets and cream-colored lampshades and surfaces, but it had yet to earn its status as a home. It was the little touches; maybe Adam's clothes strewn in a trail towards the bedroom might help.

“Not bad,” whistled Adam, walking right in and giving himself a tour. “Those moving guys must have overnight getting all this stuff here,” he said, walking by the new couch (soft brown leather) and stroking the back of it as he moved on to check out the windows (two of them; one to the side of the couch and another further on behind the couch nearer a door to a bedroom, which had a tall mahogany bookcase next to it). “Must have cost you a whole lot of your child support to afford all this.”

Closing the door, Lawrence said, “I don't pay child support; I give Diana as much as she needs whenever she needs it. It wasn't cheap, but yes, I can afford it.”

“Rich bastard,” chuckled Adam, walking around and not quite knowing what to do.

Lawrence smiled and said, lower, “I'm not divorced—I'm dead—remember? My name doesn't appear on any court orders yet. Luckily Alison is keeping it amicable; she knows what's at stake…”

Not listening, Adam placed his backpack down on the floor against the back wall and unzipped it. Now was the time, he decided, to unveil the thing he'd been trying to hide—the thing so important that he was afraid of leaving it behind.

Curious, Lawrence stepped a few steps in to the room and tried to peer over the crouching Adam's shoulder. “Adam, what are you doing?”

“Lawrence; don't ask questions,” he said sharply, rising to his feet and rushing towards Lawrence in a blur of motion.

He pressed something rectangular and solid against Lawrence's chest, who clutched whatever it was instinctively so as to not let it fall when Adam took his hand away.

But Adam didn't take his hand away.

Lawrence was standing there, Adam's hand on his chest, his hand on top of his. They breathed heavily together, completely fixated on the touch and the electricity that ran between them. Eyes met slowly but remained touching for a while, until Adam slipped his hand out from between the hard object and Lawrence's hand, leaving the older man gawking helplessly confused after him.

“Just take it, and don't ask questions,” reminded Adam, turning his back and walking away taking off his jacket. “Because I'm no good at explaining myself in these kinds of situations.”

Doing as he asked, Lawrence set his gaze back down on the thing Adam had given him. It was black—no—it was black on one side. Turning it over, Lawrence recognized it to be a silver framed picture—a photograph—of Lawrence's family (Alison smiling, holding a be young Diana and smiling for the camera) when they were still young. Tears formed in the man's eyes, and he bit down on his lips to stop them from quivering. Fondly, his thumb traced the glass holding the picture in place, remembering happier times. He wondered why—how—Adam had done this. When his teary eyes finally broke away from he beautiful and hypnotic picture to look at Adam, his throat only uttered a tiny squeak, in place of coherent words. He was speechless.

Adam shrugged, sheepish. _No big deal_ , he was portraying as he said, while looking at the floor, “stole it from your wallet two days ago; got it resized and framed… thought it was a good idea at the time. Frame was the worst—cost me nearly everything—but you like it, right?” He asked, shuffling from foot to foot.

Lawrence smiled. He knew Adam wasn't looking for compliments here—he didn't enjoy that kind of attention—he just wanted to let Lawrence know he cared, and it wasn't easy. He told himself not to make a big scene about this, to not embarrass Adam with grateful hugs and loving kisses, when all he needed was a simple: “yes, Adam… very much. Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” nodded Adam. “I… err,” he paused, licked his lips and ran a hand over his face, which was very red. “I didn't really lose a sock…”

“No. Really,” said Lawrence, chuckling. “I wouldn't have guessed.”

“I just… didn't want to leave it behind after all the effort I put in, and I guess I just went a bit crazy-paranoid there. Hah. Um, so, yeah… no sock.”

“Hmm,” said Lawrence, thoughtfully. Adam was being awfully nervous, still, but now Lawrence could see that Adam had unloaded a weight on his shoulders. He was incredibly flustered at Adam's gift, and needed to sit down to stop his legs from shaking him down to the floor. He hobbled over to the leather couch, moved to the front of it and sat down, letting the squeak of the leather subside before he did anything else. He wasn't surprised when Adam tentatively sat down next to him. Lawrence smiled and put an arm around his shoulders; Adam leaned in to him.

No words were exchanged for quite a while. Adam was relieved that Lawrence didn't overreact to the picture. He'd had the idea for a few days, trying to come up with some way to repay Lawrence for all he'd done for him. It only made sense that now he was earning some money, he could do something, however small, to show Lawrence his appreciation. It went over well, which wasn't a surprise, but he had been dreading the moment, expecting it to be awkward as hell, and hard to explain.

“So, which of these previously owned beds is gonna be mine?” Adam asked.

By now the moment had passed, though Lawrence still clutched the picture frame to his chest happily. It meant a lot to him.

“Whichever one you want—you gave me such a nice gift—you can pick out whatever room you want,” he said, in his father-voice that he knew pissed Adam off when he used it on him.

_One little piggy…_

“Good,” said Adam, standing up, stretching. “‘cause I could use some alone-time—no offence, man. It's been a long day…”

Lawrence smiled and patted Adam's arm. “It's alright, Adam. Go ahead.”

Giving Lawrence a meaningful nod that said _hey, man… we're alright,_  Adam stepped away and moved to the door next to the bookcase.

The room was relatively small, but then, it didn't need to be big with his few possessions. He liked to think he was a tidy man, and he didn't plan on messing the place up. There was a bed, about the side of the last bed, all set up, with short carved wooden posts on each corner and enough space underneath to store a few things. He sat on the edge of the bed and put his hands on his knees as he observed the rest of the room. It was small, but compared to the last place, having to share a room about the same size, this would be much more appropriate. Alongside the wardrobe and the cabinet, which had a small television on top, there was a mirror on the back of he door, which he'd closed behind him.

Alice— _Adam_ —through the looking glass.

He looked at himself; healthier, less dull and worn. His skin was still whiter than white, but he didn't look nearly as much like a walking corpse as he undid weeks ago. Lifting up his shirt, he looked at the mean scar on his shoulder, now a purplish gray in color. It itched like hell, but he refrained, sitting back down. A quick feel in to his jeans pocket and he pulled out the now creased photo of Lawrence he always carried around. It occurred to him that he no longer needed it—having got the real Lawrence just in the next room—but he liked having it anyway. He liked having something touchable, so that he didn't have to rely on memory to serve things to him on a fucked-up platter of distortions.

Kicking off his shoes, Adam scoffed humorlessly at the fact that he was wearing just the one sock. He rolled on his side on the bed in a loose foetal position, brought a pillow to his chest, hugged it and closed his eyes. Maybe if he slept for a while, the last remnants of darkness could finally vacate his insomniac brain. Stupid, thought Adam, recalling how frantic he'd been over a gift. _Did it really mean that much to him that Lawrence knew how he felt_? He thought, _it's at least a starting point…maybe when I wake up…_


	24. Changes

Disorientation didn't hit Adam the way it usually did when he woke up in a strange place as he opened his eyes to the strange bedroom. _At least it isn't a bathroom_ , thought Adam as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Going from sleeping in his car, to a shitty motel, to another family's home, to a tiny house, and now a real apartment, Adam wasn't quite in the settling mood—though he did rather like the place. It was just a matter of time, and compatibility. It was very dark in the room and he needed to turn on a small lamp by the bed to avoid tripping over the alien environment on his way over to the door, which was still closed, indicating he'd been left alone in the room for the short few minutes he'd actually slept. There was the smell of something frying, that made his stomach jump with the familiar strains of hunger; it was only a while ago that he'd eaten, but it was his philosophy that (from experience living on the breadline) turning down food was a shitty thing to do—he was too used to eating whatever scraps he could find to know how to say no to food.

“Hey,” slurred Adam, walking through to the kitchen.

Lawrence was standing by the stove, his shirtsleeves rolled up at the elbows. He looked back over his shoulder to see Adam standing there. He looked beyond adorable with his hair a mess, his eyes half closed, shuffling like a zombie. He gave him a short smile, but didn't stay looking too long as he was leaning against the side, and needed to watch where exactly his hands were going. “How're you doing?”

“Fine,” said Adam, unconvincingly. “Guess waking up in a weird place should be pretty standard by now, but, it's not. Is that something good I smell?”

“Thought I'd try out the kitchen—the rest of the place seemed perfectly functional.”

Adam sat on one of the three wooden chairs placed at the island and leaned on his elbows, like a bored schoolboy in the early hours. He scratched his head some moments later as focus returned and tiredness was replaced with hunger. He looked at the clock. It'd only been thirty minutes since they entered the place, leaving Adam sleeping for about twenty, with Lawrence maybe taking ten checking the place out and another ten cooking. He wondered how much longer it would take. As he examined the kitchen and the area around him, he couldn't quite shake the feeling of displacement; like he didn't fit in such a clean, untainted space. He needed to swear, and scratch and spit, and do all of those things that made the place human, and less manufactured. It would wear off after a couple of days, he figured, when the apartment was broken-in.

After eating, Lawrence surprised Adam.

“What is this, Doctor Secrets?” Asked Adam, finding the empty walk-in closet he was standing in, suspiciously empty, compared with the rest of the meticulously furnished rooms. It was a fairly small room, and until Lawrence turned the light on, Adam was standing there in total darkness. “Is this gonna be where you hide the bodies?”

“No way,” said Lawrence. “That's what the balcony is for.”

Adam scoffed, “then I don't see why you'd bring me in here, man. I mean, it's an empty room—you could have just told me that—I didn't need to see it…”

“Adam,” chided Lawrence, walking right up to him back, close enough to breathe against his ear. “There are two closets, in this apartment,” he said, putting up two fingers, just in case Adam wasn’t listening and needed a visual. “Now, I used the other one, to store my things; I thought that, since we are sharing… you might use this one to store your things.”

“Equal rights? What, with a scummy voyeur like me? Hah,” Adam spun around in the closet, discreetly admiring the size of the closet, while impressively remaining uninterested at the same time. Really, he was picturing only one use he could get out of a room like this. He pointed to the ceiling, and the bare lightbulb. “Get that changed to something more strip club, and I could probably do something with this.”

“Strip club?”

“Yeah, strip club—strip club—red light, get it?” Adam sighed.

Lawrence nodded, he did get it. In fact, he had the idea himself before even finding the place. It helped him narrow the decisions (which were limited) down to just the one place; storage space was adequate for Adam to set up a darkroom if he wanted—hey, he'd done it before. “Okay, Adam,” he said with a smile, clapping Adam on the shoulder. “I'll see what I can do… would you like to see my room?”

A sound—like a strangled yelp—came from Adam's throat, he said, “oh, I see… show me the possibilities, make Adam easy. I get it.”

“That's not—”

“Yeah, I know,” said Adam, quietly, looking at the floor. “I'm not stupid. Okay then, let's go. Why not? As long as there isn't a hot Asian student-doctor chick naked in your bed, I think I can handle it.”

 _Those days have passed_ , thought Lawrence. He was at peace with his past, generally, but it didn't mean he had to talk about it. He led the way out of the would-be darkroom towards the next door, which was ajar and leading to Lawrence's bedroom. Having checked it out earlier while Adam was napping, he'd have no surprises waiting for him, and while the room was perfectly nice, he didn't expect to get anything out of seeing it again. This was for Adam's benefit; at least he would know he was welcome to enter. He would be able to see the room—no secrets. It was the largest bedroom, which wasn't saying much, but there was the additional touches, such as the bed pushed right in to the corner, so that he was closer to the wall, should he lose his balance getting out of bed. There were the basic amenities: a television, a radio, a window, a lamp, a chair and a desk, a filing cabinet… it was basically an office with a bed, painted warmly. A few pictures hung on the walls, adding the personal touch to the otherwise unremarkable bedroom.

Noting several things he hadn't expected, such as special needs bars and ease-of-access light switches and door handles, he was reminded, of the rather uncomfortable realities of Lawrence's infirmity. How hard could it be, living with a person with special physical requirements? He'd been doing it for several weeks now, and it wasn't that hard (for him) holding Lawrence as he walked around, sitting him down, setting him in bed… though he did wonder if he'd ever eventually be capable of walking fully, without assistance, without any kind of device or implement to aid him. It was kind of sad, but when he walked passed those things, or when he heard Lawrence's labored breathing at every step, he could picture him dying—and he with him. He had rushed to grab Lawrence's arm before he got too far.

“Ease up, man,” he said. “Too much walking today. Come on, sit down…”

Lawrence nodded, and hissed in paid as Adam helped him to sit on the edge of his bed. Okay, so maybe he'd been overdoing it, but he wanted to just… power through it. Unrealistic when he could barely get one foot in front of the other alien foot, without falling on his face. It was like learning to walk on stilts—being the only comparison he could come up with—though never having tried that. When he sat down, Lawrence was very aware of his exhaustion. It was his experience, as a doctor, that taught him how to combat such weaknesses in favor of hard work. However, his time, these specialist attributes had waned from lack of use. Now, he really was tired, and there was no way of denying his body's needs for a good, long sleep. He groaned as Adam helped lift his legs on to the bed so that he could lie back, and more so as the pillows under his head were rearranged. It was short, and inelegant, but there it was, Adam taking care of him.

“Go to sleep, you're pissing me off,” said Adam, with a fond smile to counteract the bluntness of his request. He didn't leave immediately.

“Yeah, if you think it's best,” said Lawrence, with a shrug and an easy smile.

Adam hesitated as he hovered over the bed; he raised one hand to his forehead. “You need any help… uh… undressing.”

Unremittingly intrigued, Lawrence raised his head, and stared suspiciously at Adam. “Not usually… but… if you want to help…”

Nodding, Adam's face burned red as he quickly (too quickly, as if nothing was wrong) rushed his hands to Lawrence's shirt. He snatched at the buttons and began opening them, keeping his eyes well above the level. It was hard, so hard not to look at the rare reveal of skin as his twitchy fingers worked on the tiny plastic circles.

The look on his face is too precious, thought Lawrence with no small degree of amusement. Before Adam even made it to the second set of buttons, Lawrence's hands jumped like a shot, fingers encircling the other man's wrists, and holding his nerves in a gentle grip. He didn't need Adam to undress him, and he suspected he knew that, but there was something about the way he breathed, that made saying no so very impossible. And impossible it was for him not to brush his thumbs over the shuddering pale of Adam's wrists.

Adam was frozen, his wide-eyes fixated first on the hands, then on the eyes opposite; Lawrence's eyes were lovely… bright and blue, soft and not at all derogatory of Adam's complete panicked immobility. It's not a gay thing, Adam told himself. You can admire someone's eyes, guy or girl, and not be gay or straight… so, I guess your dick’s hard by coincidence? Adam swallowed; he could feel the sweat running down his back in tiny rivulets, mocking him with their taunting prickles. He closed his eyes, blinked hard, and opened again. Lawrence was still looking at him, with a concerned overtone. He didn't want this to beat him. He wanted to be strong, to stop running and face things. The temptation had always been there, to secede to desire. If he ran away now, he'd be taking another step backward, when all he needed to do was to step forward—once in a while—to reshape his outlook and change his life for better or worse.

_Resist or serve, Adam. Fight back, or give in—your choice._

“Are you alright?” Asked Lawrence, his hands still and warm.

Choice made, Adam broke; kneeling on the side of the bed, Adam leaned down and gripped that nasty little scrap of denial that sat in his chest and strangled it—bringing his lips crashing down against Lawrence's, swallowing the surprised gasp and kissing him with every ounce of want he had suppressed _all_ this time. And it felt good, dammit! He pushed his tingling lips harder against the quivering softness, and drew from Lawrence every breath he could possibly take in to his mouth with an aching, unstoppable hunger. Like a freight train he powered on, forsaking the old tracks of hesitation and confusion; there was only going forwards from this point on.

With Lawrence, his initial surprise was a rough slap to the face; the creeping arousal that came with Adam's uncertain flirtation was thrown in to a full and whole beat down the likes of which his body hadn't experienced before. He wanted to stop Adam, to tell him this was too much too fast, but this frantic need of the younger man, making him feel _wanted_ , _desired_ again, was how the last lingering thread of his heterosexuality snapped and unraveled in to something new, something unexplored. It excited him, and awakened his senses. Needless to say, he no longer had the drag of tiredness.

It wasn't enough; Adam wanted more. _More_ of Lawrence, _more_ of him to claim and taste and touch. Never before had he been like this, and ask him just hours ago if he'd planned to do this—he'd have laughed. Now that he was doing it… he liked it and wouldn't change it for the world. Taking advantage of Lawrence's open mouth, Adam slid his tongue in passed the soft heat of his lips and in to the hot wet cave. Rolling his tongue against the others man's in a greedy, ceaseless exploring, he refused to still, venturing all over from Lawrence's tongue, to teeth and gums, to inner cheeks and upper palate. Drowning in this exciting new world that had for a long time, been dangled before his eyes like an apple, Adam braved his former fears and took a bite of that succulent fruit; after all, there was only so much resistance a man had to hold on to before he just became an animal.

Lawrence had to break the kiss. He had to! He couldn't breathe… hands on Adam's chest, with immense effort, while his mouth was still being plundered for lost gold, he pushed, and pushed (gently at first, he didn't want to make it look like he wasn't liking it—because he was!) until the seal of their connected mouths finally broke with a loud wet noise. Strings of saliva still linked their open, quivering lips.

“A-Adam!” Gasped Lawrence, chest rising and falling, matching the other man in his frantic breathing. He couldn't believe it. Adam was still trying to capture his mouth, climbing on top of him until he was straddling his hips.

“It's your fault,” Adam panted, heavily. “Being so fucking _nice_ … all the time. No one is nice to me, like you are. Can't take it anymore, man, I just… can't. You make me _crazy_.”

“Okay, okay,” said Lawrence, calmly, stroking his hands up and down Adam's arms, not making any effort to dislodge the man from on top of him. An unfamiliar concoction of sexual arousal and paternal love brought out his worrying side again. As much as he wanted Adam—badly—he'd never considered this side of Adam coming out. He was startlingly insistent, and Lawrence, having never experienced this with a man, had a bad case of cold feet working against his inhibitions. He didn't know what to do, so he relied on his worries, and went back to his calm place, to be Doctor Gordon. “Calm down, Adam, breathe,” he advised, with an unfortunate sense of irony at the fact that he was having a harder time that Adam at catching his own breath.

Frustrated to no end by this hot/cold Lawrence Gordon, Adam growled and forced himself back down to Lawrence's mouth, powering against Lawrence's hands until he just gave up and accepted him. Tilting his head sideways, Adam screwed his eyes shut and kissed Lawrence, whose resistance died at that moment. He tilted his head to the other side and kissed him again, and again; kissed the side of his mouth; his jaw; his neck. In his stomach there were tight pains of excitement that only got more intense the more he explored and dared to proper further into this realm of self-discovery. Licking a slow wet stripe over Lawrence's jawline, he returned to his mouth, and kissed his lips, bringing his bottom lip in to his mouth between his teeth in a playful tug that made Lawrence tense under him. He pressed his tongue back inside, earning a shiver from the older man, whose head turned left then right, unable to fully engage or escape the eager wet organ from rubbing against him. No matter how much Lawrence seemed to recoil in horror at some of the things Adam did, he always stilled with hesitation, then relaxed with compliance. He's scared, thought Adam with a casually sick sense of amusement. _Well, boo fucking hoo, so am I!_

Lawrence's mouth was swollen and numb from kissing and wet with Adam's saliva by the time his hands subconsciously moved under the hem of Adam's shirt. He just couldn't fight it anymore, and he had wanted this for so long now, he was beginning to doubt himself. _Maybe Adam doesn’t really want this, maybe he just wants to feel wanted,_ he asked himself what the hell about him was left to be desired, to a man nearly twenty years his junior. Why the hell was Adam kissing him? Why was he _letting_ him touch him?

Mewling in to the mouth of the finally responsive Lawrence, Adam squirmed against his roaming fingers, arching his back, pressing his hips firmly against his and lifting his arms so that Lawrence had invitation to lift his shirt off. He had to break the kiss, but did so with a parting nip of his lips. Lawrence was too slow; he took the shirt off himself and tossed it aside away from the bed, before delving back in to his mouth again with all the enthusiasm of an addict, greedy for his next line. He suckled on Lawrence's tongue, bit his lips, ground his hips, and every bit of hesitations had been killed. He was no longer worried about the small things—being called a faggot was the last of his concerns—all he wanted was what was contained in Lawrence that he could take with his mouth, or his hands, hands which gripped Lawrence's shirt, popped buttons, and dragged fingernails. His mouth soon followed along with his desires, kissing gently down his chest. It was strange. He was half expecting there to be a pair of womanly breasts awaiting him, firm and young like he was used to. Lawrence's chest, his hips, his hands… they were nothing like a woman's. Aware of what he was doing—with a man—he became momentarily struck of confidence. What did he do? What did he… grab on to? He wasn't regretting this, and damned if he turned back now, but he had to admit: he was pretty virginal when it came to sex with men involving emotion and not money on the tables. He paused to think, and to enjoy Lawrence's firm, surgical-precise hands stroking up and down his chest, thumbs scraping his nipples.

“Aw, fuck,” Adam groaned. “That feels so good…”

Lawrence swallowed; his dry throat inevitably drank down Adam's flavor. He expected him to taste like cigarettes, marijuana… that kind of thing. But he didn't. In fact, he couldn't quite place it, but he knew he loved how Adam tasted. He still remembered the odd taste of Adam's come in his mouth. It hadn't been that taste that made him spit it out, but rather the texture; it just seemed physically impossible to swallow without vomiting. He told himself that if it ever came to it again, he'd do it. Of course, he was thinking ahead of his station; all they were doing was kissing, kissing and groping a little.

“Adam,” whispered Lawrence, hoarsely.

He lifted his head and shoulders up off the bed and slipped his arms around Adam's waist, reclaiming his body to him, bringing their mouths back together.

Volatile was Adam's need for this contact, so much so that he never wanted to prolong it as long as possible. However, his unexpected enjoyment was nearing a level more explosive than anything he'd ever experienced. He tore open Lawrence's shirt, but was too impatient to wait as Lawrence removed it, and afterwards, his fidgety hands descended to Lawrence's pants, specifically, the hard lump protruding there.

“Oh, my god,” groaned Lawrence, falling back once more against the pillow and raising a hand to his heated forehead. He began to lightly thrash under Adam as his erection was roughly grabbed and squeezed through his pants by him. Jesus, he was fit to bursting, already, he didn’t know how much longer he would last.

Adam didn't accept Lawrence's urgent clawing at his naked back, nor his breathless gasps as protest; neither of them were quite sure of how this started, but it had been a long-time coming, and it was too late now, too late for Adam to pretend or to run away. Back to his mouth, Adam plunged his tongue deep one more time before pulling back to sit up on Lawrence's thighs. Staring down at him, Adam caught his breath, and was encouraged by the sight of Lawrence, disheveled, totally unlike him; shaken, open, vulnerable.

“Adam, wait,” breathed Lawrence, squirming. “You don't have to do this, if you—“”

“Lawrence,” said Adam, in a tone teasing, dangerous. He pressed two fingers to Lawrence's lips; made him take them in his mouth. “Do you _really_ need me to tell you to shut the hell up? I'm a grown man… as much as it might scare _you_ , Larry… I'm not a kid, and I know what I want and what I'm doing. Don't interrupt again, unless you wanna get blueballed,” said Adam, groping Lawrence's clothed crotch obscenely.

“But—” Lawrence began, only to be quieted again.

“Shh—shh, no, no,” purred Adam. “ _You_ started this, _you_ turned me. You seriously getting cold feet when I've got my hand on your dick? Pfft, let me tell you, man: there's only so many times a guy’ll beat off before he'll just wanna fuck _anything_ … and hey—you're an anything, you're convenient, you're needy. I can't think of a more mutually beneficial agreement, can you?”

Lawrence blinked. He wanted to say no to Adam, he wanted to. There was no way he was believing that Adam thought this was something as cold as a ‘mutual agreement,’ a bored pity fuck from a friend. Unfortunately, he saw right through this mask Adam had decided to wear. It was unfortunate because it told of Adam's refusal to admit what was really going on inside his head. He probably wasn't even sure of how to explain it to himself. Whatever was going on with Adam was psychological, and he had enough problems with that on his side to dare judge Adam for this; he shook his head, putting himself in Adam's hands.

Adam nodded in response and said, “good—didn't think so.”

Pulling Lawrence's belt off filled Adam with an inflated sense of power. This was a man under him, a man who was big enough to flip him over if hope wanted, but he was looking up at Adam like he was a predator, about to devour him whole, it felt _good_. Never before, with women had Adam been able to forget about being nice, or careful. This was a real man, who'd seen some real shit; he could handle whatever Adam could throw at him (he assumed). A little bit of pain here, or there, was something he'd previously treated with complete caution, but with Lawrence, he was able to throw the caution partially aside and expand this particular experience further.

Convinced of Adam's approval, Lawrence vied for eye contact, and when he got it, he saw the real Adam staring back at him. He looked nervous; his words were merely machismo flash, but he could see that this was what Adam wanted, and so did he. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and let the sounds, smells sink in to his senses so that he could remember this feeling. The picture of Adam straddling him, breathing hard, would be a mental image Lawrence would forever keep. He opened his eyes to a touch surprisingly tender; Adam's hand stroking up and down Lawrence's face.

Adam was foolish to think he could get away with just having sex with Lawrence tonight, and not let inconvenient things like feelings getting in the way. This wasn't some stranger that had brought him home for the night, this was Lawrence, his friend. As long as he remembered that, and that he'd never hurt him, then he'd have nothing to fear. He went ahead and pushed his other hand down Lawrence's stomach, and slid in to his pants.

Everything, all senses in Lawrence's body went off like a shot in that moment, like rockets sparking crimson flames behind his eyes, his body sank in to an irreversible delirium, where one problem evaporated, and another dissolved, becoming a mixture that bore only pleasure. He could feel Adam's hot hand stroking his engorged member, pressing down with his palm, kneading his flesh like clay, manipulating his erection however he pleased. Lawrence, couldn't help but whine out, as another kiss came down and captured his mouth. To say he claimed he wasn't gay, Adam liked kissing, a lot, thought Lawrence with some degree of revelation; Adam was not only kissing him, but enjoying it, judging by his insistence to come back for more. Though, Lawrence wasn't exactly spurning him, either. It was a fact that Lawrence too was enjoying it, that he was _able_ to continue.

Everything about this was familiar, yet at the same time new for Adam. He new the basics, as anyone should, but he had no intention to take this to a level he'd be uncomfortable with. This, he could do. It was easy enough to slip his jeans down over his hips, grind himself up against Lawrence, without needing a refresher in sex-ed. Yes, he could do this. Panting and humping, Adam's mouth finally ceased the restless kissing to lay his head in the crook of Lawrence's neck whilst his concentration focused on the urgent need to reach climax. And he was nearing that particular need, it wouldn't take long, and he could deal with the obligatory guilt and conflicting emotions later, when his conscience returned. Hooking his fingers underneath Lawrence's waistband, he roughly tugged downward his pants, and when they wouldn't come, he pulled again until he heard the zip break, and down further until he could arch his back and slide his erect penis against he other man's.

Both men groaned at the supposedly incompatible contact; heated breaths as hot as the matching organs rocking and rolling together between their legs, mingled and boiled the atmosphere around them in to a fog of lust which enslaved their brains and destroyed cognitive thought. Raw animal need overthrew any semblance of civility now, as Lawrence's arms wrapped around Adam's back, pulling his slim, burning body impossibly close; bare chest against Lawrence’s exposed skin, he continually whispered Adam's name in to his ear as his hands scaled the smooth expanse of Adam's back in time with the rhythmic collisions of hip against hip, stroking sweaty hair, digging in to the ribs. Adam's energetic performance rendered him useless as to just lay there and love him like this. And what a performance it was: he looked beyond beautiful.

It was at that thought, that single evoked word that pushed Lawrence over the edge. He came, gripping hard on to Adam as he spilled between their stomachs in thick jets; smeared and spread by Adam's movements. He couldn't scream, he couldn't even whimper, not an articulate or inarticulate sound came out of his open mouth. His brain, was thoroughly fried.

 _Oh no, no way_ , thought Adam. He doubled his efforts, he didn't like Lawrence leaving him behind—in _anything_. The wetness brought an incredible slide to Adam's movements, until his cock was gliding against him with exquisite smoothness; ecstasy came to Adam, and unlike Lawrence, he was not shy with his vocalization: grunting, whimpering in his usual effeminate manner, coupled with the sublime sound of wet skin against wet skin, Adam roughly plowed against him, swearing up a storm, muffled by his biting in to Lawrence's neck. He came, but never stopped grinding—slowed, but never stopped—as the overture of orgasm played up the big ending, with his body wracked with pleasure. His eyes squeezed shut, his fingers gripped—anything they could, his toes curled, his back arched in to Lawrence as his penis twitched with jolt after jolt of electrifying intensity. All thoughts in his head scrambled in to a complete overwhelming mess; he flopped over to Lawrence's side, on his front, then slowly rolled over on his side, facing him but not fully aware—of anything.

“Oh, fuck,” Adam mumbled. “Fuck-fuck… wow…”

Lawrence breathed in agreement; his body, in particular his head and arms were completely drained, lifeless lumps attached to his torso and neck. His groin tingled continuously, but his penis began to deflate and hang down over his thigh. Everything was fine, wonderful. It didn't matter how sticky he was from the shared loads spent, or how many lines had been crossed; he was ridiculously happy with only a portion of the fabled guilt residing somewhere in his gut. He was laying on one bed, a sweaty mess next to the man who could have been dead, but wasn't. It was entirely liberating, and for the first time in a long, long time. Lawrence had taken genuine satisfaction from sex, and not just mindless monotonous climax out of habit. And holy hell, it felt good.

There was so much sweat, covering Adam, so much come on his body, that he began to idly wipe himself down with the tails of Lawrence's shirt that hung down under them. Sex was sex, it was always good no matter who with, but for Adam, he expected to be terrified afterwards… but he wasn't. He was… _warm_ , maybe _too_ warm. He didn't want to get up. He didn't want to talk. He just wanted to lay there.

In no rush to kick Adam out of bed, Lawrence only watched him, with a fondness exponentially better than before. He was exhausted—they both were—but his eyelids simply refused to close on the gorgeously splendid sight of Adam; his chest’s rapid rising and falling slowed, and he seemed to calm. Beads of sweat clung to his skin like droplets of dew, and his fingers itched to stroke his smooth abdomen in small circles, but he refrained, body too fatigued to complete this wish. A smile crept to his face when his eyes met Adam's.

Adam, who had relaxed sufficiently to think again, turned his head and opened his eyes. Lawrence was still there, at least. He smiled back, weakly, and closed his eyes again. He'd deal with this later, right now he needed some sleep.

Dreams were battered back in to shape that night; nightmares reformed in to dreams resembling something normal (if there was such a thing) from the hideous corruption of normality caused by the hell he'd been through. There was only a lingering torment there now in his dreams, a sure sign that he was defeating the fears that had for so long held him as a helpless, snivelling boy. It was unlikely he'd ever go a single day in his life where he didn't think about that, but now, other things were bullishly forcing their way though the shit. Ramming their way in to the here and now.

Adam slept well.

There was no awkwardness for reasons unknown to Adam when he regained consciousness in the morning. He was awakened by the movement on the bed; Lawrence was slowly rotating his body in to a sitting position with his legs hanging off the big bed. Adam, who was still far too sleepy to even, out of politeness, get up with him, turned to face away. There was that followed, the odd sensation of brief terror—a jerking heartbeat—of waking up in someone else's bed; no one ever really got used to that feeling. His cock was hard and his pants were weirdly tangled around his legs; he kicked them off the bed and proceeded to pinch the tip of his penis, which protruded through the hole in his boxers, reducing his unfortunate, but healthy morning glory.

“You recover fast,” coughed Lawrence.

“Fuck you,” droned Adam.

“You already did,” said Lawrence, dryly.

Fishing his cane up from the floor where it had fallen, Lawrence heaved himself to his feet and hobbled his way out of the room. A light had been left on in the lounge and so he turned it off promptly before moving off to the bathroom, wearing no more than a wrinkled shirt, underwear and socks. He planned to shower, not because he was disgusted what happened, but simply because he was dirty and needed hot water to wash away the mess stuck to him. It was a first: another man's semen drying on his belly. It should have been scary as hell, and for some parts it was, but for the most part, it was just bizarre. If it ever happened again (and he hoped it would) he'd assumed he'd get used to it, and that was the scary part, that he wasn't nearly as bothered by this as a supposedly heterosexual (though completely open minded) man nearing fifty should have been. Was there something wrong with him? Why wasn't this affecting him like it should have? These thoughts, he took with him in the shower.

The bathroom was small, but a little larger than the old one (thank god), giving him more space to manoeuvre with his disability. It had a toilet, sink, bathtub, shower and a linen closet; all perfectly standard and fully operational. There was the smell of a pine air freshener cleaning the air, and he breathed it in gratefully, because although the smell of Adam's sweat on his skin was something he really couldn't ever dislike, a change was needed to clear the mind as well as the body. He sat on the toilet seat while he finished undressing, leaving his clothes in a heaped pile as he grabbed on to the rail and hoisted himself in to the shower, which was already running with hot water.

 _Jesus_ , he thought, with his hands firmly pressed to the wall, head hung and water running down through it. _What was Adam thinking—doesn't he know what he does to me?_

It wasn't just a charity fuck, or rather, grind, he knew; Adam didn't _do_ pity—only for himself. Whatever possessed Adam to kiss him in the first place—he couldn't recall—but he loved it, and him, more than ever. Trailing his tongue over his bottom lip, he could feel the swelling where Adam had bit at him, and taste the caked saliva there, cracking away as flakes in the moisture. It aroused him; the markings, the essence of the man he'd fallen for, clinging to him, almost refusing to be cleaned away. Still, he scrubbed, knowing that even with the absence of Adam's breath on his neck, or tongue in his mouth, he could still feel it, and more, like a glowing aura everlasting and eternally rich.

He soaped himself continuously, moving hands lower to cup his genitals. Looking down, he was surprised to find that they hadn't changed. Nothing, in fact, had changed. Sleeping with Adam hadn't changed the world, hadn't made his dick fall off… huh. There was a time (not too long ago) when all he did was work, and have sex with women behind his wife's back. It was inexcusably shallow, and devious. Maybe he blamed his lack of a conscience for it now, but then, he wasn't think about anything. None of it made him happy, not the women, not the money, not the work… but he was happy now. There, he told himself. There was nothing wrong with you, you were just looking for happiness in the wrong places. You were insensitive, selfish… but they were just distractions. He sighed and closed his eyes, began stroking his limp penis slowly. _Haven't done this for a while… Adam, oh, Adam, what have you turned me into?_

In a similar state of arousal, though far less sociable with it, Adam was sitting on Lawrence's bed, smoothing his hair in to a slightly neater mess as he considered things. _What the fuck kind of drugs were you on last night, Adam_? He sighed and shook his head before finally making up his mind on what to do. He was filled with an urge to run away, a very powerful urge that played against his better judgement. Grabbing his jeans, he yanked them up his legs and hopped off the bed, zipped up and frantically sought out his shirt.

 _He stopped. Come on, what are you doing? Pussy_.

Sluggishly, he continued dressing, but without the understandable instinct to flee. It was an instinct, that's all. A bit of a habit when things got too hard to face. Lawrence wouldn't judge him if he had ran away. He was a good guy, Lawrence. Adam wanted to be here for him, more than for himself, and he was sick of overreacting. Nothing would change, not really. All he had was Lawrence, and he did no one any favors by taking off again. He'd stay, man-up. There would be some weirdness, but then again, when wasn't there after sex? It didn't matter that Lawrence was a man—he was his friend, and that was probably the weirdest part about it. He didn't want to screw this up (whatever it was) by hitting and running; Lawrence deserved better than that kind of treatment. He meant more to him that some cheap fuck and a goodbye in the morning, and while he wasn't entirely sure where his feelings developed from emotional dependence to sexual attraction, but it had happened, and it was something they'd just have to deal with in time.

“I can do this,” whispered Adam. “You can do this—not that hard—”

In the middle of pulling his shirt on over his shoulders, Adam's blood ran cold.

The terrifying sound of a loud thud came from somewhere in the apartment, sending chills up Adam's spine and a cold sweat on his back; he ran off towards the sound, fearing some kind of evil presence within his secure sanctuary—a wicked invader. Finding nothing, the rational was a second-best resort, though just as concerning. He barged in to the bathroom, slamming the door open regardless of all possibilities.

Lawrence was on the floor of the shower, having lost his grip and slipped. On his side, he was struggling to raise himself up, and the shower was heavily splashing his face.

At the sight, Adam startled, and yelped: “Lawrence!” Reaching in with one arm, he turned off the water before getting to his knees and grabbing Lawrence's arm. He came willingly, though he was heavy. “You need to be more careful, man,” he said, lending the other man his shoulder and walking him out of the shower, and grabbing a towel on the way to cover him up. “Getting cocky and shit.”

Lawrence huffed, clasped the towel to his hip and moved along with the help.

He would have been lying if he said he didn't care. Out of all the people in the world, he had the most respect for, and care for, Lawrence was right up there. As much as he liked to display the thorny exterior, he had soft spots more than pricks. He helped Lawrence to the leather couch in the main area of the apartment, and laid him down on his back with a pillow under his head.

He complained all the way, telling Adam he was “fine—Adam, stop fussing.”

Paying no attention, Adam elevated the prosthetic foot with another pillow, for the first time, getting a good look at it. Aside from the discoloration and the ugly scarring, it almost looked real. He had to pinch the sole just to make sure, which of course, earned no reaction from Lawrence, who only looked at him with a grumpy curiosity. “Weird,” said Adam, looking up at Lawrence with a nervous smirk. He felt the foot with one hand, examining the skin, and flexing the toes. “Like a Frankenstein foot, man… if it wasn't so fucking tragic, I'd be pretty fanatic, as creepy as that sounds.”

Lawrence didn't say anything; Adam wasn't touching him, he was touching an it. “Synthetic fibers and rubber,” said Lawrence, laying his head back with a sigh. “Customized to fit, and to look real. Of course, it's just plastic to you and me.”

Adam nodded. Now that he mentioned it… It didn't feel at all real. It felt weird. Firm but limp and lifeless at the same time. He lifted Lawrence's flesh foot up next to it, earning an uncomfortable exhale from the man himself, as he positioned the real next to the fake. It was an interesting comparison. “Must have been expensive,” he said, idly. Okay, so he wasn't really that interested, but he was fucking terrified; Lawrence falling because this… thing, he hated it. It occurred to him that he hadn't even seen it close up, and it was a good excuse to not talk, or to think, and to just numb the brain on something utterly unimportant.

It wasn't like this was temporary. Lawrence would have this forever, and he would just have to be more careful, and to learn from miscalculations like the one in the shower. That's how man grew and learned; from his mistakes, wasn't it? He closed his eyes, and blocked out the mortifying humiliation he'd endured thanks to this foot. Slips, trips and falls; he wasn't nearly old enough to have to worry about this. He felt old, embarrassed. He put a hand over his closed eyes, just to double-block his access to the visuals—and, and to hide the slight heated coloring of his face.

Yeah, decided Adam, having had enough treating Lawrence like some kind of sideshow petting zoo. Pretty weird, Adam. He got up, and pressed down on Lawrence's leg as he did so. “Hang on,” he said, walking away quicklime, turning back. “Stay there, I'm gonna grab your clothes.”

“Oh, yeah,” mumbled Lawrence out of earshot, removing his hand from his face and opening his eyes. “I'm just going to jump up and start a chorus line.”

Returning a few seconds later, a frantic Adam was carrying armfuls of Lawrence's clothes he'd seen laying on the bathroom floor—soiled—but still good. It was better than being naked. He dumped them on to Lawrence, who said nothing, and told him, “here, put these on,” before he helped put Lawrence's legs through in to his underwear and pants.

Slightly sitting up, Lawrence pulled on his checked shirt and laid back down and adjusted his hips while pulling up his pants that Adam had been kind enough to attach to him. It was a short-lived embarrassment, but it left him with a lingering inadequacy that needed forgetting, badly.

All action aside, Lawrence had laid back again and was seemingly studying the wall, while Adam's eyes drifted away to the floor. An awkward silence ensued with the delayed, returning to the forefront of both of their minds. They'd had sex last night, sort of. Neither wanted to talk about it—what was there to talk about? There was only so long that a subject that immense could be reduced to a mere footnote; and it came rushing back to the spotlight as soon as the drama had diminished, eyes glanced at each other, looked away again as soon as the contact remained. Oh, yes, both were thinking the same thing.

Clearing his throat, Adam spoke up, and said, “do you… err… like, need anything? I mean, I'm not a doctor like you, but I'm pretty handy with a bottle opener.”

“God, yes,” agreed Lawrence with a heavy groan and a nervous laugh; thankful for he breaking of the very tense ice.

And so, Adam rushed off to find beers in the fridge. While there, he looked at the wall clock: _beer at nine in the morning… nice, things are looking up_. There was no better medicine than a good dose of alcohol to forget shit that you didn't want to think about. _Cigarettes, maybe_ , thought Adam, fishing out a bottle opener from the drawer, holding two bottles between his fingers. _Maybe that's the problem_ , he considered: cigarette-less after sex? Fucking what? He shook his head, popped the tops and walked back over to Lawrence, swiftly handed him the beer as he passed him by to sit on the second, smaller couch. He flopped down on it, threw one leg over the top, arm behind his head, and brought the beer to his lips. _Yes_.

“Want to watch TV?” Lawrence asked, reaching for the remote on the table.

Adam, gulping down a mouthful, rolled his eyes and responded: “does a dog piss on a lamppost?”

Lawrence cocked his head, turned on the television and welcomed normality, at last.


	25. Ace In The Hole

There was no reason to avoid the apartment. Today Adam wasn't avoiding, he was working. Or rather, he'd do what he could with a bottle and a half of beer in him. It was just that the place still seemed a little fresh to him. He should have stayed there, the sky was cloudy and the scenery was dull and miserable. He was sat on some steps by a bridge, eating a sandwich that Lawrence had made, and insisted he take with him if he was so adamant about taking some pictures—and he was taking pictures. Of the bridge, of swimming ducks, and of the boats. There was nothing that special. It sucked, but what else was there to do? He was not immediately clear whether or not the only thing preventing him from just turning back was the continued company of the man he'd had sex with last night. It was, for all intents and purposes, sex. Non-penetrative, but they'd both reached the mutual culmination. Adam was actually expecting to just get over it. But something was keeping him thinking about it. And hey—maybe another go at it wasn't off the cards, provided they both played their hands the right way.

“I'm gay,” he said to himself, chewing bread. “That's gotta be it. What else…”

The fact that the only way to get the best photographs was to be out and about, Adam remained vigilant, even when the sudden sound of shuffling footsteps nearly gave him a heart attack. Clutching the camera to his chest out of not only common sense, but experience, he was prepared to get up and run, should the situation call for it.

When it happened, and an old woman who was walking her tiny dog started passed him, he released much of the terrified tension. The dog sniffed at him and he shooed it away. The vague terror become a comfortable anger. The old woman was looking at him like he was a piece of shit. He was used to it, but he hated it. Biting his tongue, he did his best to remain quiet, although he did want to tell her to fuck herself. After they'd gone, Adam left, heading the opposite direction, having taken a few pictures and eaten. The rain started to come down then, and he pulled his hood up.

Finding himself later on a muddy trail, slipping and sliding, Adam decided it was best to head on back to town, from wherever it was that he'd got himself. It sucked; four hours since he'd left the apartment and he regretted all of it, with scarcely a decent picture among them to justify it. Cutting through shrubbery, he experienced some harsh flashbacks; hiding, following, stalking outside of homes, offices, cars. His pace sped up to a quickened rate and his breathing and heart rate followed suit. _Why did you have to come here? There's nothing here… now you're wet and shit, and is that someone behind me_? He pushed on through the bushes until finally, he was back on to the solid streets. _Phew_ , he thought. _Another few minutes and I might have screamed, or something…_

It was hard to distinguish exactly where he was, but after he recognized the sight of the little bar, closed, he remembered where he was going thereabouts; at first he tricked himself and almost went right back to the old house, but stopped and took a trip down an alley the moment his brain woke up, which took him passed it. It was further out by a long while, and he was forced to trudge through ankle-deep water on some occasions—the perks of living next to the docks on a blustery winter. He kept his camera buried within his jacket and walked very quickly to the apartment, eager to get to the safety that was Lawrence. He was the only one he could trust in this world full of cancers and maniacs. The only cure he could see, and feel, and cling to, and his name was Lawrence.

  
Lawrence hated this—he was a doctor, a surgeon—forced to infirmity by one of his disgruntled patients. He'd never get used to the burdensome feeling of uselessness; like he should be working, like he should be saving someone. Yet, he was laid the full-length of the warm leather couch, head supported by a pillow while his sceptical eyes remained semi-glued with impassioned spite to the workings of an afternoon medical drama.

“What a joke—oh, come on,” he wheezed; rolled his eyes and tried not to watch.

Adam found the place (it was a little hard, given that he'd only been there once or twice in the dark—he'd gone in to the wrong building and taken the elevator to the wrong floor before he managed to get there) and he found his key shoved in his pocket. He pulled it out and unlocked the door. Déjà Vu struck him the moment he walked in. A part of him was expecting it to be his old, haunted apartment, where he'd be alone. But there were no ghosts, only Lawrence lifting his head from the opposite side of the room that looked like it was a mile away to Adam's eyes, which had to readjust to the unexpected sight. As soon as he walked in, he stopped, and breathed. It was weird, but this almost felt like coming home (if he knew what that felt like, it might've been), someone there, things to do. He wasn't sure yet if he could like that feeling. Placing his camera on the edge of the island in the kitchen, Adam began to take off his jacket and on his way to hang it up on the several hooks behind he door, one of which held Lawrence's raincoat, he glanced over to the couch.

“You weren't gone long—I wasn't expecting you to be back until late,” said Lawrence, sitting up on his elbows. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” said Adam, shaking off water from his jacket. “Too much rain, in case you've lost yourself too deeply in to… what is at shit you're watching anyway?” Too wet to dare treading across the carpet, he stayed in the kitchen and peered over to the television screen, and then at Lawrence. Jesus. His shirt was partially opened, ruffled, creased; blonde hair messy in places. He found the downgrade to Lawrence's nearly always impeccable standards… well, weirdly appealing. He looked warm… approachable… hot as hell.

“Oh, I don't know,” he said, urgently rising, making effort to get up.

“Nuh-uh, man,” said Adam quickly. “Stay there, I told you.”

Doing as he was told, Lawrence nodded. “But you're dripping wet, I—”

Adam held up his hand to silence him and said, “don't worry about it, there were times where I'd have killed to feel rain again—had, had killed—” he corrected, sadly.

Heaviness, like an atmosphere of grief fell upon both of them then, where Adam couldn't help but remind himself of the blood, the skull, the brains, and of all the devolving shit humankind did to survive, and was just… bummed out. Lawrence went quiet, too, and so Adam took the opportunity to strip off his shirt, which only felt wetter and heavier now that he was in a warmer, dry environment.

Lawrence watched him with sad blue eyes, but remained quiet. It had not escaped his mind, the things they had been forced to do under the immense pressure, and it never would. He would simply have to not let it rule over him. It was plain to see that Adam didn't want to talk, and so he wouldn't say a thing. He just stayed there and watched him start on pulling down his pants. He'd have smiled fondly of he wasn't so wrought. Adam didn't seem to have any problem with undressing right down to his underwear, and that cheered him up a little, and more so when he saw how Adam kept his back to him most of the time and then walked, holding his wet clothes to his waist to hide his modesty. He then saw as Adam threw the wet clothes in the wash and stood there for about a full minute before sighing dramatically and storming out of the kitchen towards him

Marching passed the area, Adam stepped aside and in to his room, that he'd yet to spend more than five waking minutes inside, and closed the door. There he fell on his back on the bed and pressed his hands to his eyes, repressing any unnecessary outburst. He felt like shit for having brought that up again, but sometimes (most of the time) he just said things without thinking first. It was an unfortunate character trait.

After Adam left for his room, leaving Lawrence in the other room, Lawrence turned his attention back to the large television, though he couldn't focus. He was wondering if Adam would benefit from therapy. Probably not, he thought. Definitely not. He smiled, imagining Adam screaming at some poor psych student. He would be alright. As unstable as he could be, he was a strong-willed man and he was young; he had his whole life yet to get over one traumatic event. And while he wasn't certain if Adam preferred to just not talk about it, or to actively avoid the memories entirely. He himself was inclined to face challenge, but it still left him feeling helpless, useless. He wanted to take care of Adam, but right now, Adam just wanted to be alone, and he had to respect that.

“Fuck,” Adam swore, finally breaking out of his depression; lowering his hands.

He thought about getting up and getting dressed, but relented, and just took time out to feel his breathing, and enjoy the comforting solitude, knowing that just through that door there was someone there. He wasn't chained or bound to anything. He was free and he could do whatever he wanted. Liberation made him feel good—better than it should have, because he wasted no time and hardly any resistance in spitting a nice thick wad in to his palm and then sliding the copiously slime-coated hands down in to his boxers. Normally he wouldn't have been shocked at all to achieve full hardness, but lately it had been difficult. It was a good sign, right? Return of his usual sex drive meant his mental agility was catching up to his body. And fuck did it feel good. Wriggling his underwear, which were as wet as the rest of his clothes but he was too uncomfortable about walking around naked in front of Lawrence, even if he had seen him naked before. It was just politeness, he told himself, following up with, _that's bullshit, Adam. You had a hard-on the moment you stepped through that door and saw him all sexy and un-doctorly… you just didn't want him to see, you fucking dope. Whatever. You're alone and naked now, with your hands around your cock—what shall I do, hmm? Come on everybody, shout it out—yeah, that's right. Adam does audience participation now. Grow some balls, Adam._

Adam wouldn't call Lawrence in to help, because he still had a hard time wrapping his mind around the whole ‘gay thing,’ it'd take some getting used to. _Maybe it'll happen again_ , he wondered, closing his eyes, rubbing himself slowly up and down the way he liked best. _You can call him, you know…_ _Lawrence wasn't exactly pushing you away last night_. He thought back, remembered how hot his tongue was in his mouth, and groaned at the erotic memory. _Nope, can't call Lawrence, not when it's him I'm thinking about. Hell, he might even be flattered_. Behind his eyelids, he remembered Lawrence's heat and his skin.

He knew how to masturbate; he'd been doing it since pre teens (at the same time some older girls mocked him for his height and joked, asking whether the rest of him was that small) and he liked to think he had a good handle on it by now. Sure, thoughts of other men were an almost entirely alien notion to him, so this whole session had an aura of experimentation about it, of uncertainty, and youthful nostalgia of the first time (when you think you've broken it when white stuff comes out). It was exciting, but scary.

Wrapping his spit-soaked hand around the engorged shaft, he rolled his palm back and forth over the head and rubbed his other hand over his balls and the base of his erection. Thinking about Lawrence's growling, his dick. He hissed and took his bottom lip between his teeth. Hips raised off the bed, rocking up and down in to his hands; more spit, more friction. _Holy Jesus, that feels good_. He continued stroking himself, deciding to just go for it as quick as he usually did, with fist a blur of motion and his other hand straying down, tugging his balls, fingers dangerously close to his virginal asshole. He could feel the puckered rim quiver under the pad of his middle finger and paused; he could just shove it in, just like that. No. He knew he'd lose his hard-on if he did that. Having had no previous interest in self-exploration, and finding satisfaction in purely vanilla interests (Lawrence was the kinky one, he liked to think, though really, he had done some shit in his life, too), he doubted he would be able to maintain arousal with his concentration focused on trying to stuff digits up inside himself. _Would Lawrence want his_ , he told himself, eyes suddenly open. _What if he gets bored and decides he wants a piece of undelved ass like some kind of Adam-hungry monster_? It was a scary thought, and it was a thought that brought him very close to just forgetting this masturbation business and moving on, until he almost came, that is. He shivered and held himself steady, stopping all movement for a moment.

_See_? Adam mocked himself, harshly. _You're a faggot after all; nearly shooting at the first—the first fucking—thought of Lawrence getting his dick anywhere near your asshole. Freak_. Still, he wasn't exactly put off; continuing a slower, more controlled stroking before he'd even finished he obscene thought, acknowledging it. _Guess you must be_.

Raising his hips once more, he roughly rubbed a daring middle finger behind his balls, while his other hand worked his rod, doing his best to keep hard and brave. It wasn't like he hadn't tried this before, of course he'd been curious one or two times in the shower… or with girlfriends, but hadn't had the balls to up his game in this way. His eyes were closed again and he prodded gently at first, against his hole, only wanting to sate his curiosity while he was in he mood. He imagined what it would feel like. _A hell of a lot bigger_ , he thought humorlessly. _Come on, for fuck’s sake… guys—even straighter guys than me—do this every day, and I can't even take a fucking finger. Just—just… get it in there_ …

He tried, pushing against his hole, but the pressure was putting up too much resistance, making it hard for him to get so much as a fingernail passed the tight ring of muscle. It opened up, briefly between breaths, leading him to understand that he needed to relax. He became paranoid that, the grunts and wheezes he was making, that Lawrence wasn't on his way over to investigate right now. He _needed_ to do this, if he was going to. Setting his hips back down, he turned attention back to his softening penis and gripped it with both hands, working it back to full hardness while he controlled his breathing better. He thought about old times, fucking girls that were often too unpleasant to spend more than a month with. He liked being alone, girlfriends weren't that great. Hell, if he could figure this out, he might get Lawrence to play along and he'd never need a girl again—just two guys doing guy stuff.

Eventually, he tried again, after almost bringing himself to orgasm again.

“Okay, what the _fuck_ ,” he grunted, and brought his legs up and spread them apart.

Again, no lube to hand, Adam spat generously in to the palm of one hand, cupping his fingers in to a bowl (the saliva started to drizzle through his fingers—he needed to work fast) and quickly thrust his hand down beneath his lifted thighs. The wet slapping noise of his hand rubbing up and down his crack was disturbing to Adam's arousal, but he steeled his nerves and with the wetted hand, created a rhythm that mated with the stroking of his cock. _So weird,_ he thought, frowning. His relaxed position helped his sphincter to be more forgiving to invasion, and so Adam's wet middle finger slipped inside. It surprised him when he wriggled it around. _Is that in? Really? I didnt feel a thing… maybe if I…_ he clenched his jaw and pressed deeper, finding that even relaxed, he only managed to get _half_ of one finger inside, up to the joint.

It frustrated Adam, who figured it must be easier than he thought to engage in anal masturbation, only to find he'd _barely_ started. The pressure was incredible. He pushed hard, _really_ hard, but his finger seemed to barely move. _Just… move_ … he began to pull his cock like there was no tomorrow, pre come oozing from the slit and providing additional lube for his excited member. _Not enough_ , he decided, bringing his finger out of his rectum with a wet sucking sound that made him cringe before applying more spit to his hand. This time, he really went for it, with two fingers, effectively drilling them against his hole with a determined anger that he was so famous for—he wasn't going to give up.

It was _so_ wet, he couldn't believe that he couldn't just shove a _fist_ up there, yet he was still having difficulty getting more than fingertips inside. He was encouraged though, to find he was harder than ever. He had been afraid he'd totally turn himself off, but that wasn't the case. He'd seen more than his fair share of pornos, and knew the girls faking screams of pleasure when the guy shoved his dick in her ass was a major concern. They faked everything, every whimper, every shudder. He couldn't take anything about them seriously. If they didn't like it, how was he supposed to?

“That's it,” he gasped, not out of defeat, but out of surprise; his two fingers just popped inside, just like that. His mouth hung open wide but his eyes remained closed. He felt full, _weird_ , but good. Fucking good, jeez, ohh man that's so weird… he liked it. He knew there was a prostate in there somewhere, and with his fingers knuckle-deep, ass stretched around them, he sought it out, eager to find it.

_Why? What? Why do you want to find this thing—if it even exists?_

He knew the answer, but the groan that came from his lips prevented him from answering it. This didn't hurt nearly as much as he expected, and he swore that he was so _deep_ inside himself that he was starting to see stars. In fact, it didn't hurt at all, it just felt filling, and sort of uncomfortable but there was no definable pain—yet. He thought about adding a third finger, but quickly decided that too much might be pushing himself too far. He didn't want to play his whole hand and risk setting himself up for a fall.

“Ohh, shit,” he groaned out loud, and threw his head back; pulling back and pushing in again seemed to do something. The inner walls of his anus contracted around his fingers, so tightly that he certainly could _imagine_ how good it must feel to get a cock inside. He began to fuck himself, and had not lost his erection in doing so. He was rather impressed with his efforts, and he jerked off _quicker_ , convinced that now, after breaking ground (and a lot of practice) he'd be ready for Lawrence, if aces were shown.

A while later and Adam was fully-fledged, _finger-fucking_ , and becoming a total wreck with abandon lust and unspent desire. His hole seemed to loosen more and more the deeper he dared go and widened still when he paused to bend his fingers and experiment and feel around inside there. It wasn't long before a tingling sensation began, originating from inside his ass, and spreading like a warm fluid to his balls and his penis. It felt like he'd drank a lot of warm fluid and he needed to urinate, bad, but he couldn't. He began to thrash around, _enjoying_ the developing feeling that came with flexing and rotating his fingers. He even rolled over on to his side and reached behind himself, but after a short while found the position to be too awkward and so returned to laying on his back, doubling his efforts.

Focusing on the area that sent the most electricity to his genitals, he arched his back to give _more_ access and really just pushed deep; crooked his fingers, and… bingo.

And he did see stars, only for a moment, but he couldn't stop himself from yelping like a bitch; at first, he was afraid that he'd touched a nerve he shouldn't have, but nothing bad should feel that good. His cock erupted, as if on cue, with a sudden unexpected spillage of semen. But this was no ordinary orgasm; his whole body felt the spark like a chain reaction faster than he could adjust to. Every part of his body tensed with outlandish sensation. He was coming apart.

_Well. Congratulations, Adam_ , he told himself some minutes later as he was wiping come from his stomach with his discarded boxers. _You've just graduated to total queer_. He chuckled with disbelief at what he'd just done. And laid back to catch his breath. He supposed he found the prostate. But he'd only just _brushed_ it, how could it feel _so good_? He was reeling, and felt like he was drifting along a sea, but on a cloud—it was weird-enjoyable.

After further cleaning up, Adam regained composure enough to find some clothes to wear within the drawers. His fingers trembled with excitement, still in a state of shock. He realized it wasn't quite as good as the sexual encounter had the night before, but then, he'd had such a massive build-up, that it must seem like a simple slice of bread must look like to a starving man—unbelievably good. He didn't doubt Lawrence's sexual ability, but Adam was desperate for sex, and he hadn't done it for a long time, it was bound to feel good. As for what he'd just done, it had been done in anticipation of further encounters with Lawrence. If Lawrence wanted to fuck him, he'd be ready, given some intensive training to make it go as smoothly as possible. He picked out some sweatpants and a short-sleeved shirt and put them on as fast as he could before Lawrence had had time to develop suspicions.

He left the bedroom and was particularly adamant that his face didn't appear red, but then, he couldn't see himself, because his face was indeed flushed.

It didn't take a genius to work out what Adam was doing in there for so long, but it was his room—who was he to judge? Besides, Adam told him to stay put, and he had no intention of pissing him off by barging in to his room, likely catching him in the act, even if he'd been squirming on the couch ever since muting the television to hear Adam's high-pitched whine. At first, he was scared, thinking Adam might have hurt himself and was trying to hide it, until his brain finally registered the sound he'd already saved hard in to his memory banks. _Now_. He had no evidence that Adam had been masturbating in there, but he had to allege so, and when he did, he became hard in his pants, barely able to hold on to his sanity. He wanted to see, and he wanted to be there with him, but he was forced to be punished by not being allowed to. _What am I, six_?

“Are you alright?” He asked; repetition of his earlier worries.

When Adam exited the room, he stood there and looked over the couch at Lawrence's soft hair and for a brief, weak moment, he wanted to touch it. He scoffed, shrugged and walked away towards the kitchen and pulled out the half finished bottle of beer from the morning before sitting on the smaller couch next to Lawrence, against the wall. He sat in the middle of it, where the cushions met, holding the bottle between his knees.

“What're you watching?” He asked, pleasantly enough, though it was obvious he want that interested.

Lawrence smiled and leaned over, handing him the remote, which Adam took. He then returned to laying back, with his hands on his forehead, fingers knotted together. Adam eventually settled his channel-hopping and frequent “nopes” on a wildlife documentary, which suited Lawrence just fine.

Adam made Lawrence a coffee about halfway through and by then any tension had evaporated. He'd put his bare feet up on the coffee table and had a magazine set in his lap, with the glossy pamphlet’s spine between his thighs as he idly turned the pages. It was a photography magazine that he'd picked up somewhere, and offered useful (and useless) hints to any aspiring students of the camera, including setting up your own darkroom. He glanced over at the large closet at the other side of the apartment and begun to imagine how he'd go about getting all the equipment he'd need. He supposed Lawrence would loan him the money and he'd order it all. But jeez, he didn't like sponging, and now that he had means to supply his own money, he did feel less inclined to ask for free stuff. He could make his own way, the same as he had before, but with Lawrence there to help him, he'd make sure he stayed on the right path.

At around six at night, Lawrence had put on his glasses and was sat up, going through some papers on the table. A day of laying around and drinking coffee had given him more energy that he perhaps should have had, to say he had nothing to do. He was looking at old documents and some of his own fabricated history. Under the name James, he'd grown up in Portland, to two parents with a brother and sister, blah, blah. It was all shit, and he was pretty certain that the Witness Protection department had just pulled out a pre made history and simply replaced John Doe, with his own pseudonym. He wasn't confident in their ability to protect and serve, but he had no choice; when one day his captor-torturer would be brought to trial (if he was alive by then) he'd be on-call to testify all he knew to hopefully bury the bastard that terrified his young daughter. How could anyone feel sympathy, dying of cancer or not, for anyone who had the capability to do something like that? Out of anger, he swept his papers off the table and fell back against the couch with an aggregated growl.

Rigid with shock, Adam could only gape at the unusual display, looking up from his magazine to the stressed-out man, who had his had over his eyes. Clearing his throat, Adam quickly muted the television and quietly said, “Lawrence? You okay?”

Waiting for a few seconds before doing anything, Lawrence lowered his hand and looked at Adam, gave him a short, impersonal smile. He wasn't alright. So much was going on with him; his family across the country and not wanting anything to do with him; a killer and his deranged followers running wild; his incapacity and Adam becoming a staple in his life… it was a mess, and on top of it all, he had paperwork to fill out. “Sometimes,” he said, with his eyes lowered. “It helps to just shout it out.”

Adam nodded. Oh, yes. He knew how that felt. Moving to sit carefully next to Lawrence, Adam bent and slowly began to pick up the papers from the floor. “Shout away, man.”

Lawrence wanted to smile, but he couldn't. He leaned forward, refusing to let Adam clean up his mess; fingers brushed; eyes met. Lawrence paused. Adam had a puzzled expression that was so endearing that he hesitated to look away. He _leaned_ in towards him.

Accepting Lawrence's kiss, purely because he didn't see it coming and he wasn't quite sure how to react, he kept his eyes opened and his lips closed. It was a nice feeling that gave him butterflies in his stomach, but not even the beer in him could give him the courage to kiss back, even though he did like it—the warmth and the gentleness. There came no tongues or biting this time, only a light peck on the lips, and it was over. It was too nice, too soft; more than he deserved. He pulled away the moment he felt Lawrence's hand on his cheek, and evaded the subject by collecting the rest of the papers and putting them on the table. He leaned back as soon as he did that, and again put his feet up; fidgeting fingers in his lap.

Meanwhile, wrestling with his emotions (and his caffeine-induced energy—which normally had little to no discernible effect on him) Lawrence could only freeze where he had kissed Adam, and let the hollow mortification chill up his spine. He'd just kissed Adam, with absolutely no sexual intent or aims of seduction; it was just a kiss, as friendly as he might have given his own daughter. The difference being, this was Adam, a man—a man who didn't kiss men. A man who didn't kiss men, kissing a man who didn't kiss men… it was a mind-bending puzzle that went too deep, was lost too far in the labyrinthine workings of their eternally twisted brains. And it was a nice kiss, one that Lawrence had only committed to out of instinct; Adam was close and they'd touched, and he wasn't shouting or sweating, he was just… peaceful. It seemed like there was no better thing to do at that time, and he didn't regret it. What he did regret however, was his own damnable cowardice, resurfacing, preventing him from being able to approach the subject verbally.

“Um,” Adam muttered, in a sound that imitated both complete confusion and wary avoidance. He moved slowly—too slowly (like a cat that thought it was being stalked; like a caterpillar, inching along)—and reclaimed the remote that had been left halfway across the glass topped coffee table, carefully trying not to spill the papers he'd just put back. His lips tingled with a soft excitement and his stomach and head swam with unattainable, fantasy earthly delights: falling rose petals, gentle breezes, all culminating in his mind’s eye as a slowly generating tornado of feelings he never thought he'd have. He changed the channel.

… _resulting in increasingly elaborate deaths, investigation pending. And that was our top stories for today, now over to weather: expect heavy snow over the next few days that may cause delays in traffic and flights, check your local news for more details…_

Adam changed the channel to a movie, and leaned back, latching his toes on to the edge of the table and staring aimlessly up at the ceiling. It was a nice ceiling—nothing special—painted white with a decorated border around the apartment and around light fixtures. Hah, he thought. Good thing I gave up smoking, or this ceiling would be dripping yellow right about now. His leg bounced nervously as his thoughts moved on to something else (anything but what the news reports had to say), all the while glancing around the room indiscriminately, fixing his sights on various, distracting objects that he knew must have had their own stories to tell. Finally, when his eyes set on the picture he'd had made for Lawrence, sat neatly in the center of the bookcase beside him, he froze. Lawrence had put his hand on his knee; he looked over at him. The man's brows were furrowed with concern.

“It's alright to cry, Adam,” said Lawrence, conspiratorially, as though telling a secret.

Biting his lip, Adam sharply nodded. _Not gonna cry, not gonna_ …

“Sometimes, it even helps,” said Lawrence, smiling and patting Adam before leaning back again. As calm as he was being, he too felt the sting of responsibility like a skewering spike through the chest; people were _still_ out there, dying, while they were locked up inside their own private fortress, unable to do anything. It was incredibly frustrating, but deep down, Lawrence expected, even in all his knowledge, breaking cover would be doing no one any favors, even if he thought what he knew would prevent further senseless tragedies—he didn't, but he hoped.

“Pssh, shut up, man,” trembled Adam. “I know… I know that. It's just…” _I hate him._ “I'm _sick_ of fucking crying,” _won't cry, won't_. “I mean, what does that help? Really, I'd rather, I'd rather,” he sniffed, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand the moment he paused, giving the implausible illusion of something else. “I'd rather not even acknowledge this shit right now, okay? I won't dignify that bastard by letting every fucking thing turn me in to a weepy bitch with no grip on my emotions…”

Lawrence nodded. He could see Adam was indeed crying. He'd turned his head so he thought he couldn't see, but he knew what he was doing, lifting his knees to his chest and pressing his eyes to the material of his pants. It hurt him immensely. He wanted Adam to get over this with him. After all they'd been through, how could he just sit there and let his fellow sufferer, with whom he'd shed _blood_ with, almost died with, cry even one tear and think he had to hide it. He grabbed the remote and turned off the television, scooted over to sit closer, hip to hip. When Adam only tried to get up, Lawrence placed one arm around Adam's shoulders and another on his knee, gently persuading him to settle. “Shh, Adam, it's okay,” he whispered, admittedly surprised when Adam not only didn't try to pull away, but instead he turned to face him and just threw his arms around his neck and buried his face in to Lawrence's chest. Lawrence could feel Adam's shoulders shaking; he was still in pain. He coaxed Adam with soft hushes, and sweet strokes of his back. He pulled Adam closer, almost in to his lap and felt his own sorrow break in tears in his eyes. He nuzzled against the top of Adam's head and kissed his hair softly, sharing in the mutual distress and comfort.

Adam knew he could count on Lawrence; he wasn't at all the stuffy doctor he'd spied on, and later been chained to a wall with. He was. But he wasn't. He tried to imagine if Lawrence would have been this comforting to him if they'd had been friends in another life. He doubted it. But christ, he needed this. Sometimes, even a man, needed to just be held and not to feel a diminished manhood the penalty. Lawrence would never hold it against him—he knew he real Adam, and that was both scary and thrilling to him. No one ever saw this side of Adam, and this side didn't exist solely because of his experiences. In the deadly trap, Lawrence had reserved the worst of him, seen it and moved on. And he was the only one, the only one allowed to see him at his weakest, and he knew he could trust him with this. He just knew… what else did Lawrence have to see? He'd seen it all. So, Adam gave it all, and cried silent tears that he knew was pointless to hide, as Lawrence's shirt was getting wet, but he felt comforted pressed so closely, and treated with such unconditional, honest care. Once he threw himself in to this, he didn't want to break away, and in all honesty, he wasn't sure he knew how.

It was the only thing Lawrence could do, as a friend, to just shut up and hug Adam and not say a thing to fracture this important outpouring; Adam needed to cry, and so did he. Every once in a while, the build-up needed to break down. It was hard, but it was healthy. He didn't care how long it lasted for, only that they would make it through it alright, and he knew they would—they always got through the worst of times eventually, and this was a long way from being the worst. In fact, it was good. Before too long, they had broken apart, with Lawrence giving Adam an unselfconscious kiss to his forehead. After that, they returned to their ordinary positions, with less distance before them, both thinking about each other.


	26. Bad Magic

“Alright, mom,” were Adam's last words to Lawrence the next morning as he left the apartment. He'd made a big thing about how wet he'd gotten in the rain yesterday and now with weather reports predicting snow, Lawrence argued against Adam's usual photography trysts. Adam rolled his eyes and told Lawrence that he couldn't stay cooped up. They reached a compromize with Lawrence forcing a thick, weather-resistant coat on Adam, and telling him to head back at the first sign of snow. Adam shrugged and reluctantly agreed. He was even offered a car by Lawrence, which Adam turned down. He loosely promised to be back home around lunch time. He found it amusing, actually, how Lawrence was bored, stuck in a room all day without him. It was kind of ironic, though he did empathize.

Taking a trek back in to town, Adam first visited the photography studio. He picked up a few photographs, freshly developed, and handed the attendant a full roll of film to develop. He'd accepted a generous amount of cash for his work in producing photos for a small company that was in desperate need for publicity. He'd pitched a few poster ideas, and amazingly they were accepted. The benefits of living in a town and not a city meant that there was not as much competition, and work was easier to find. He was even becoming bored with his routine of wandering around after he stopped by the studio; the downside of living in a small town, always that there was nothing new. A week of taking pictures and he'd already seen it all. When asked that morning whether he'd like to accept work for events, like school photographs and family pictures, he immediately snapped up the opportunities offered.

There was nothing yet for a few days, except one, dreaded, opportunity. _Bottom of the barrel, ladies and gentleman; Adam is going to do a children's party. Fuckin’ A. Who the fuck has a kids party on the edge of bad weather_? He asked himself all kinds of questions, but spoke only one aloud, and in return, he was given directions. As more explanation was given, it turned out to not be a specific child's party, but a party for the children… some local tradition; before the holidays, they would have a little celebration and gather at a historic banquet hall, kids and parents and teachers, to just chill out and not have to worry about extra homework assignments. Adam questioned the need for him at such an event, but it was paying well, so he didn't question too hard. He was instructed to meet Ian, another photographer, who was a veteran at these events and had no interest in freelancing; he was just a pro at studio-type work and had all the equipment at his van, where he was supposed to gear up. So, not competition. In fact, they would be working together, with Ian setting up backgrounds and tripods, and Adam pulling the triggers, so to speak.

Time to kill, Adam walked the streets (well, drifted) kicking discarded cans, peering in to closed shop windows… _hmm_ , thought Adam. _Everywhere is closed_. _This must be because of the snow coming in_. He reminded himself of the harbor, which was now further away (but he could still smell it) and that these kinds of places always got the sucky weather; the rains, floods, and the snow, and being so far away they had the experience to know how and when to prepare for it and not to rely on outsider help.

On his way around town, he took notice of a woman, young, pretty—she looked a little lost.

“Excuse me,” she asked, urgently grabbing his sleeve. “Ca-an you help me? I'm looking for my daughter, have you seen her?” She went on to pull a small, wallet-sized picture from out of her pocket and showed it.

A little young to have a girl that age, thought Adam, inappropriately. She was no older than twenty. The picture was of a girl of about Diana's age. It made his blood run a little cold. She was smiling, wearing all red and holding a little red bag. He shook his head and turned the picture back in to her hands. “No… I haven't. Sorry. Is she missing?”

At that, the woman breathed and walked around him with her hands running back through her neat red hair. “I… I don't know, exactly.”

Adam watched as the very stressed woman approached a bench by the dockside and sat on it. Her stockings were black and her skirt red. Her knees pressed together and she rested her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were red, and her eyeliner was running down her tear-smeared face. She looked a mess, but he couldn't turn away now, even if he wanted to. Out of politeness, nothing more, he joined her on the bench. She lifted her head to scrutinize him, her green eyes terror-stricken and pleading. Adam didn't know what to do or say to comfort her, but he knew what Lawrence would do—he'd help.

“Please,” she said, noticing the camera. “Can you help me, you're a photographer, right? My ex-boyfriend, h-he might have taken her—you can go look for him and—”

“Whoa—whoa,” Adam stopped her, removing her desperate hands from where they were gripping his upper arms. He lowered her arms as sensitivity as he could, and awkwardly patter her hand, giving her his best sympathetic look. “Look, I don't do that sort of work. I'm just a freelancer… can't you call the police? I mean, I'm not judging you, but usually when people loose their kids, they go to the cops, right?”

“I can't,” she said quietly, but her eyes retained the look of desperate agony. “My boyfriend—my ex—he is a cop, and I've asked him and he denied it, laughed me out of the station and told me to look for her before filing a report.”

“Well,” began Adam, turning to her. Just stop Adam, you don't wanna get involved… “where did you see her last?” Fuck.

“At my house,” she said, coming down from hysteria, wiping her smeared makeup away with a handkerchief in her coat pocket. “She left early with some friends just after breakfast, we were supposed to meet later at a party across town—“”

“Wait, did you say party?” Asked Adam, putting two and two together. “The holiday party for the parents and teachers, too? I'm supposed to be there,” he said, excitedly, thinking that maybe this solved her problem too. “What—you haven't checked there yet? She's probably there right now!” By now, he'd stood up and gestured aimlessly around; really, he wondered why the hell she hadn't checked there yet.

“No, she's not,” she replied, shaking her head worryingly. “I just came from there, that's when I noticed, and I asked her friends and they said she was with them a while ago but had disappeared. Me and another couple of parents had a look for her while the hall was still quiet and people had yet to arrive, but we couldn't find her anywhere. Then I went to the police department, and then I found you…”

“Okay, okay,” said Adam, finding her whole crying again awkward. He kept a short distance away from her. “What if she just stepped out for a while, or had a falling out with her friends, she could have gone back there by now. I'm headed here now, why don't we go there together? That way we could check again before overreacting.”

She took a deep breath; released it and said, “okay.”

While they walked, Adam told her his name (as he wasn't nearly as concerned to who learned his identity—he was a nobody, still) and obtained her name: Julia, and her daughter was called Juliette. He told her that it was a pretty name, and she smiled at him but remained as ever anxious, arms crossed, eyes wide and searching. He didn't know exactly where he was supposed to meet Ian, but when just ahead, he saw a rusty old white van with a man fumbling around in the back of it, he assumed this was him, and indeed, when he approached closer, he saw the man look over his shoulder and nod in his direction. Apparently, he recognized him from a description, or something.

Out of back of the van came several photographic cases and equipment, including (but not limited to): cameras, tripods, power packs, pro shoot lights and their stands, roll-up screens and a computer. Ian appeared after closing up the back of the van. He was in his forties, with thinning brown hair and a small birthmark on his neck. He gripped Adam's hand in greeting, and smiled with a full set of teeth and said, “hey-hey, you're Adamski right? Welcome aboard the party train. Why don't you grab some things here and we'll haul them inside--they'll be starting any time now.”

Adam didn't have time to talk before two digital cameras were slung around his neck alongside his own, and he was then effectively loaded up with some heavy bags.

“Hold on a minute, man,” argued Adam, readjusting the strap for a large case around his shoulders. “Hasn’t anyone heard?” He said, nodding to the woman in his company. “This lady's lost her kid, she's supposed to be here but no one saw her when she was supposed to be here an hour ago—how long have you been here, maybe you saw something.”

Ian, who suddenly became tense—not appreciating the delay—looked at the woman and nodded. “Hey there Jules, how's it going? Are you missin’ lil’ Juliette?”

Adam, who didn't expect them to know each other, sighed to himself and watched as the two exchanged glances. She was still closed off, with her arms around herself. She nodded. He then looked to Ian, who scratched his chin (flecks of dandruff spilled from his wiry chin-strap) in thought.

“Nope,” he said, before turning to finish locking up the van. “Maybe she's inside after all.”

“Yeah,” said Adam, at a loss. He turned to her as he was hitching up the heavy load he carried. “Come on, let's go and look. I'll bet she's there.” He had no real confidence in that, but he had to ease her mind somehow, even if he himself was beginning to feel the old familiar grindings of panic welling up inside him.

The three of them went in to the building, where there was a steady stream of adults and children heading inside. The noise could be heard from outside and Adam could feel a whole lot of eyes on him as he entered. Apparently nearly everyone knew everyone else; Adam was the stranger in town, and boy, he was feeling it now more than ever. There was about a hundred people there in total, with a strange mix of tall people and small people, making it look like a very uneven ocean of heads. The building appeared to just be a single large hall with about ten adjoining tables stretching from one side to the other and everyone began to take seats, with adults and children separating in order to be with their own. Ian nodded Adam to one side of the room, where coats and bags were haphazardly located and there they began to unpack. The age range of the children was fairly broad, but none of them were quite teenagers, and Adam kept his eyes open for the girl in red. He saw plenty of girls, but none of them quite matched Juliette’s description. After about thirty minutes, Adam had helped Ian set up a small studio in one corner, where at some point a number of students, parents and teachers would have their photographs taken. It was a fairly simple affair, to which Adam was grateful. There was a few entertainers; balloonists and clowns, and even a magician, who were far more obnoxious to the eye and ear than a bunch of chatting schoolchildren.

“Has anyone seen Juliette Bowen?” A voice spoke through a microphone.

Silence befell the hall; Adam looked up from the camera he was refilling. There was a tall thin woman in her fifties stood at the end of a room on a small stage. At her side was the very nervous-looking young mother he'd met, peering over the head, apparently not finding her daughter among the group. _Shit_ , thought Adam. He had hoped she'd be here. It definitely brought a downer to the party, especially when the question put to them was met with confused murmurs and shaking heads.

“She'll turn up,” grumbled Ian at his side.

Adam witnessed the room go from gentle reverie to ominous rumble of ill omen. He heard a young girl (her friend, he assumed) call out that she'd seen her earlier but not since they'd arrived. He then saw the frantic mother begin to wail, telling all that she'd told them that she was missing and no one believed her. It was becoming quite the exciting day, unfortunately, but Adam was told to remain in his position and that everything would go on as planned until further news followed. There was a big meal followed by chatter, and things seemed to run smoothly, with several groups of boys and girls having their pictures taken with their teachers, but, there remained a shakiness to smiles that told of worry. It appeared that not everyone, however, was that worried, granted some boys were laughing and chatting happily like there was nothing wrong, and the kids in general were oblivious to the possible agonies going through the adults’ minds. They, and Adam, had seen the dangers the world had in store for missing girls. But the principal (the tall thin woman) was right in not creating havoc to distress the children.

Ian had gone outside for a smoke and had left Adam in charge. Several pictures had been taken between him going out and returning with a child's red jacket in his hands, soaking wet. He entered like Moses parting the Red Sea; parents and children alike, spreading out in a sea of shocked gasps. He tossed the jacket (the girl's jacket) on to the end of the table, leaving a horde of people to swarm all over it.

Standing on tiptoes, Adam tried hard to see through the melee, and hear through the incoherent cacophony, but it was useless. It didn't take a genius, however, to figure out what was going on. He paled at the cruel deliverance of the jacket, and swallowed the lump in his throat. The girl was truly missing now, only her small red jacket to be found. He hated this, he hated this. It reminded him of Diana, snatched from her cozy bedroom by heartless nut cases. Is it happening again? It was a terrible thought, but Adam couldn't help himself. These kind of thoughts plagued him. It seemed every other thing was related to that nightmarish event those months ago. He knew it couldn't have been him; he didn't just hunt down little girls for no reason. No. This was just a freak event; an event Adam had again found himself in. He had warned himself, as soon as he had seen the woman crying in the street to stay away, but these kind of things, had ways of attracting him, it seemed.

A missing child. A stranger in town. There were suspicions on him from the start, but Adam was already preparing his defence, and he'd got a number of alibis to place him away from where she'd last been seen. As luck would have it, however, no one approached him with pitchforks and torches. In fact, they were all reverting to pre-mourning. It was uncomfortable, and as soon as Ian approached, Adam was on the case.

“Hey, man,” he said, walking fast to catch up as the fast-walking man sped by him towards the small studio setup. As he showed no signs of stopping to talk, Adam asked: “You found that—where?”

“Down the hill off-road, half-buried in mud… horrible, but a guy has to assume she was playing and slipped—the mud is awfully wet—fell in to the quay down there. Poor critter. Julia is hysterical,” he never paused to face Adam, and crouched down to start packing things away. Before he had time to be asked, Ian quickly justified his actions. “It's a bummer; we'd better clear this stuff off before the cops show up.”

“Why?” Asked Adam with a frown. “Is some of this stuff hot?”

“No way,” laughed Ian, hoarsely. “But this shit is expensive, and you just know they'll be poking their nosy fucking fingers around instead of doing their jobs and getting their feet a little wet looking for the kid. Hell, this place will be pretty crowded soon, might as well make some space, since ain't no one gonna wanna have their fucking pictures taken looking all miserable and shit—party's over.”

Adam didn't have time to question, as he was quickly handed several things, and being loaded up again before he could utter even one confused syllable in argument.

True to Ian's prediction, the police showed up minutes later, just as Adam was putting the stuff by the van out of the way. Two cars showed up, and parked outside the building. One of the officers was a tall Asian guy, and immediately stared at Adam, and continued staring for several moments until the other police officers made their way inside the building. It was intensely scary. The guy had eyes like daggers and immediately radiated antagonistic vibes towards Adam, who only stood there at the other side of the street, a meek little boy under the fierce gaze. He was a cop, Adam decided, a detective, by the coat. _Does… does he think I_? He shivered once the man had walked out of sight. He decided then, that cops fucking sucked.

The children were allowed to go home, once the police had asked standard questions to the parents and a couple of girls who'd seen her last. They had gathered no further information other than the fact that the girl was still missing.

Adam didn't like this. _Why aren't they… like, looking for her_? He was stood outside for a long time, back against the wall, arms crossed, foot tapping. He was watching Ian from across the street. He was pushing all of the camera equipment to one side but had not yet started loading them back in to the van. Adam wanted to go home. He wished that he'd done as Lawrence had asked and stayed inside. It was cold as fuck, and he was shivering, even with the extra layers. As he looked to the sky—the white sky—he saw a snowflake, identifiable as such when it finally landed on the wet sidewalk and melted away as if in slow motion. To his understanding, snow would be a hell of a delay in the investigation, and it was already too delayed for his liking.

“Oh, come on,” he said to himself. “What's taking so long.”

As he was saying this, he was distracted by Ian, who covetously hoarded his equipment away out of sight behind the van. He heard clattering; he was putting the stuff away. “Hey,” called Adam. “Do you need a hand over there?”

“Haha, no, man,” said Ian, still out of sight. “You just sit tight in case there's anything I need.”

“Are you sure?” Asked Adam, crossing the street to go over to the van. Before he got around to the back, however, Ian was already shutting it up.

“No need—all done,” he said, clapping his hands.

“Oh, right,” said Adam, a little disappointed; he could have used the excuse. Instead, he stood there, and let his eyes glance down. On the floor still remained a ziplock carrying case and a collapsed tripod. “Ah, but what about those?” He pointed down.

“Yeah,” said Ian, swaying on heel to look at the clutter. “I must have been in a hurry—didn't pack the things away in the right way—now there's no space. Sorta like playin’ Tetris, this van. If you don't load ‘er right, she'll knock you out. Don't worry about it, man, I'll come back for these after I unload the good stuff, if you know what I mean. Hang tight, look after this stuff for me ‘til I get back. Alright?”

“Sure,” said Adam, nodding, though he didn't exactly catch his meaning. He stayed there and waved the van off after Ian got in and started the engine. He sped away, leaving Adam there to hang around and freeze his balls off. Adam walked to the sidewalk at the other side of where the van had parked, and he peered down the hill there. _It doesn't look that muddy_ , thought Adam, prodding the edge of the steep drop with the toe of his shoe. _A young girl though_ … out of curiosity, Adam got down on his knees for perspective, grimacing at the wetness that seeped through his jeans. “Fuck me, this is scary,” said Adam, holding out his arms, trying not to fall down the steep grassy incline. _Why would any girl wanna play here for fuck’s sake? Standing up, it's easy to see how a child might have fell, but that didn't make sense, unless someone just threw the jacket down there_. It led Adam to believe that there might have been an accident. _Maybe some careless bastard hit her, maybe he drove off and left her falling down the hill and in to the water_ … he visibly shuddered at that thought; who could be so careless? The only real explanation to Adam's mind (as sad as it was) was that the girl had arrived early, and that someone had taken her in his car after a struggle; she lost her jacket and he pulled her in his car and drove off. It explained the lack of any other object of hers.

Using the camera around his neck, Adam carefully walked the line that separated the sidewalk from the grass, and used the viewfinder to peer down the hill, looking closely for signs of where the jacket might have fallen. _Maybe there's some other clue, or something_. He scanned the area slowly, but found the earth around the space hard and dry. _Frozen_ , he noted, curiously. He began to take a few pictures. _Hey, if I'm not gonna get anything else out of today_ … he took pictures of the tall, bare trees and wiry bushes that surrounded the area, and even the way the sun glowed behind the invisible clouds. No matter how far along the line he went (it ended at a set of stone steps going right down to the water, where some boats were moored) he saw no sign of any belongings of the little girl, nor no sign of mud.

The mistrustful soul that he is, Adam began to doubt that Ian had found the coat where he said he'd found it. _Or, someone dumped the coat… great. So the poor kid could be anywhere_.

“‘scuse me, sir,” came a voice from behind Adam.

He turned sharply, only just realizing where he was, and what he was doing. He had traveled a long way down the road, and walking towards him, with his hands in his coat pockets, was the scary detective with the piercing eyes. Adam froze on the spot. No doubt he had questioned everyone in the hall by now and had been looking to get a full set by finding Adam. He slowly walked to meet him, head hung like a boy walking to his scolding. The man stopped, and waited, making Adam walk the rest of the way to him, setting the tone of their relationship from the start. Trudging his way guiltily towards him, Adam made an effort to look around (anywhere but him) and had noticed the car park that was just at the side of the building, was almost entirely vacated, and only one of the two cop cars remained. When he finally got to the detective, he stood up straight, and inhaled.

“Is there a reason why you're skulking around, when you may be wanted for questioning?”

“Skulking?” Snorted Adam. “No, I was doing what your boys _should_ have been doing—looking around for that missing girl. I mean, what the hell are you people doing even talking to _me_? Seriously, there are some real weirdos out there, and they're probably getting away with kidnap and who knows what else while you're getting up in my face.”

With his agitation clear, the detective sighed nasally, and said, “sir, we are doing our jobs.”

“Oh, _really_?” Challenged Adam, with a shaky voice. “Is it your jobs to harass American citizens instead of helping them? Because if it is, you might as well go sit your asses back in your donut shops, and I'll go do your jobs for you, shall I?”

“Is there a reason why you're so nervous?” Glared the detective.

“Hah, Hah,” laughed Adam, sarcastically. “Y-yeah… ‘cause there's a little girl out there, probably getting cut up—chained in some evil prick’s bathroom somewhere while her mommy and daddy have no idea where she is or what she's feeling. Well, let me tell you what that feels, like… It feels lonely, it feels _desolate_ , it makes you feel like _crap,_ and hate yourself and the world—let me tell you: if that girl isn't found soon, she'll _never_ be the same. And it's assholes like _you_ , who waste fucking time, who are responsible, and you're so fucking _stupid_ , that you just walk around talking to assholes like me, because you've got no leads, and you don't wanna look useless, right?”

“If you are quite done with your little rant, would you care to come with me,” said the Detective, without a hint of patience. He overlooked Adam's eye roll, and turned away to walk back towards the building. “And I'm going to need to see some identification; not a person at this function here today has said they recognized you; yet you have been allowed to take photographs of their children no questions asked. Right now, I'll tell you, you are not under arrest, but you are a suspect.”

“Fucking hell,” groaned Adam. “Of course I am.”

Walking with heavy footsteps, Adam kept his hands in his pockets until he was given a look by the Detective, and he removed them. He hated cops. He hated their ineffectual arrogance. It was their fault there was still a deathtrap-loving psycho at large, and it was their fault that a little girl went missing. When was this going to end? He was not going to let this guy bully him—he had no right. The man didn't even have a notebook, or tape recorder or any of that crap, so why was he really there?

“Watch your language, please,” he said, stopping their walk just inside the entrance of the building. “Now, tell me your name so we can get this started.”

There was a few people still there, talking to police. One of them was the girl's mom, sitting on a chair, with a police officer stood in front of her taking notes. She was too deep in to a crying jag to so much as notice Adam, who snorted at the Detective’s juvenile request. “Right. Because not swearing right now is what's important. Fucking asshole,” he muttered, mostly inaudible, entirely ignored. “My name’s Adam Faulkner, I'm twenty-seven, I'm a loser, I used to smoke four packs a day, have no pets, I live with a roommate, I'm a freelance photographer; I like greasy food, sleepovers, beating off to nekkid ladies, and not being murdered. How about you, sailor?”

“None of that helps,” said the Detective, bluntly. “Ease up on the attitude and we won't have a problem. Now, if you have some proof of your name,” he started, but before he could finish, he was very angrily handed a wallet from out of Adam's pocket. He kept his eyes on the agitated man and went through the wallet, slowly leafing through the minuscule contents. “Are any of these cards not expired?”

Adam exaggeratively shrugged, and took back the wallet when it was returned.

“Is there anything you need to tell us before we begin?” Asked the Detective.

Adam sighed, “Haven't I told you enough?”

“Nothing that I needed to know,” he replied.

Now Adam was getting tired; not angry anymore as he'd said everything he needed to say, but tired. He just wanted to go home and forget this mess. Why couldn't he just tell him to go home? It was so easy for him to just curse his newly honed willpower for letting him quit smoking, because he really needed a cigarette at this point. Pacing back and forth was the only thing that seemed to quell the impolite cravings. He asked, “so what is it you're asking me, because I've got a hot date with a crippled doctor and some kind of snack to get to.”

“Routine questions for this kind of occurrence,” he said, finally pulling out a worn leather bound notepad. “It would help if you were as honest with me as you need to be without divulging any irrelevant, sensitive information. Do you get me? Okay, first question: have you got a criminal record—any record?”

“No man,” sighed Adam. “Unless you count harboring an unhealthy love for cheesecake a crime.”

“You sure?” He asked with a raised brow. “No sex offences, restraining orders… that kind of thing? Because we will be checking either way, so it's better if you tell us now to avoid any later difficulties.”

“Christ,” Adam groaned aloud, becoming irritated again. “Oh, now that you mention it… hmm… oh, yeah, now I remember. But I haven't raped anyone since last month, and I haven't taken any kiddy nudes since last week, I swear—fucking idiots,” he growled. “No, no, no, how many times do I have to say no before it sinks in? _Honestly_ …”

“You aren’t helping,” said the Detective. “I'll make a note of that in my report. Now, I'm inclined to think you had nothing to do with the child's disappearance, but you see, anything you could tell us might help piece together the little things… and the little things will help to form a bigger picture. If you really want to help, as I think you do, you will stop, and just answer my questions—that's all you can do.”

Adam inhaled and exhaled loudly through his nose. He got it—he did—but he did not get off to a good start with this guy and just the way he looked at him made him get all defensive. Sassy old Adam had his uses, still, but on this occasion, he realized he was helping no one. He nodded, and surrendered.

“Miss Bowen said that she talked with you before you arrived here today, and that it was her first time seeing you in town. As it turns out, a lot of people here tonight—all of them, in fact—haven't seen you before today, myself included. I know everyone in this town. So, you can understand my suspicion towards you; no incident like this occurs without some provocation, and like I said, I know everyone here. I know their names and their kid’s names, where they go to school and where they work. You, are an anomaly in that equation. I know nothing about you, you appear all of a sudden, and then this happens, and you are hanging around what may be a crime scene.”

“Okay—okay,” agreed Adam. “I get it—I get that you don't trust me, but you don't have to. I'm a photographer, I invade people's privacy, I'm an asshole, but I don't kidnap kids, alright? Stranger or not, it doesn't entitle you to point your fingers at me. If I could explain why I'm here, I would—but I can't.”

“Why can't you?” Asked the Detective, sharply.

“Because, you may know everyone, but I don't know you either. You're just a stranger to me, too, and I can't entrust vital information to a stranger, donut-munching cop or not. All you need to know is that I'm here now, and even if you—or anyone else—don't like it… I'm probably staying.”

“And where are you staying,” he asked, never faltering.

“Apartment,” sighed Adam in defeat. “Other side of town…”

“Right. Thank-you,” he said, and started scribbling something down before continuing. “And significant other?”

Adam shook his head, but then felt a vague, strange stab of guilt. Does Lawrence see it that way? He sighed and followed it up with a quick, “roommate,” response. “Already mentioned that if you were listening.”

The Detective nodded subtly, and briefly looked up from his pad; looked at Adam and then back down again. “This roommate,” he continued, slowly. “Would they be male?”

Adam nodded, a little calmer at these questions, but still frustrated that nothing was being done. He'd spied a couple of officers arrive from another car, and they gave the Detective an approving nod in the distance before they went off towards the location where the jacket had supposedly been found. Adam began to wonder why Ian hadn't returned yet. It's a small town and he lives here, right? _What's taking so long? He'd tell this guy where he found the jacket_ …

“I see… and were you coming from there on foot when you first met Miss Bowen?”

“No,” said Adam, recalling the details. “I was at the studio in town, that way,” he pointed down the street. “They could tell you that, and that I was there for a while, and that that's where I was given the job to come here and do the shoot with that guy Ian who was here… was here before me,” here before me. Then, “then that chick ran in to me, and she looked distressed; she told me her kid was missing and she-she showed me a photo… told me she thought her boyfriend might have taken her or something, but the cops didn't believe her,” fucking cops. “We went in to the building together and there was nearly everyone there already. We set the stuff up, but no one was really that interested in having their picture taken after Ian went for a smoke and came back with the kid’s fucking _coat_ in his hands… covered with mud. _Jesus_ … at least it wasn't blood…” seen enough of that for one lifetime.

“Sir, I'm going to need you to slow down,” he said, glaring at him. “After you entered the hall, did you, for any reason, leave the building?”

“No,” said Adam, tiredly. “I've told you everything that happened from my perspective, really. Can we end this? Am I still a suspect?”

The man neither confirmed nor denied that, and asked, “just one more thing: what were you doing over there when I saw you?”

“What does it look like?” Adam asked, holding up his camera. “Since you guys weren't doing a whole lot of investigating, I thought I'd do a little investigating of my own. There's a missing kid, is it really that hard to believe? I mean, look,” Adam pointed; there was an elderly couple, peering over the edge of the hill. “I'm not the only one with a stake in this. Are you going to grill every single person who cares?” You'll be out here freezing your ass off longer than I will, if that's your plan, Detective.

The Detective signalled one of the officers to usher the couple away, and signalled another to come over to him. The officer was even taller than the Detective, and younger, and broader, muscular-wise than any of the others. He stood there with his hands on his hips and looked Adam up and down. “Confiscate this man's cameras and equipment, and have the contents analyzed.”

“What?” Argued Adam, backing away and gripping his cameras tight to his chest as soon as the officer’s heavy hands stretched towards him. “No way—you can't just take—”

“Please,” said the Detective, with a deep, low sigh. “Just cooperate, it'll be easier. If you're innocent as you claim, you'll have no problem with us borrowing these for a few hours, unless you have something to hide. In which case, you will only be helping yourself in to a jail cell. Now,” he said, holding out his hand. “The cameras, Mr. Faulkner.”

“ _Shit_ ,” spat Adam. He knew the Detective was right; it would be a mistake to refuse to comply with the investigation. He was, however, more concerned with the little girl. He knew he was innocent. Why couldn't they just believe him? Wasting time searching through rolls of film when they could be searching for her… well, it royally pissed him off. Reluctantly, he took off the three cameras he had on around his neck (two, his own; one, Ian's) and handed them over to the Officer, all the while glaring childishly at the Detective. _Is this what you want_? “There. Can I go now?”

The Detective nodded; “sure,” he said. “But first, you're going to need to fill out some contact details with the Deputy, here down at the station. And we will contact you from anywhere between now and in the next three days when we are finished with your equipment. That will be all, as I will be heading up the investigation here. I'll be keeping an eye on you, so don't think about skipping town.”

“Skipping town—what?”

“This way, please,” said the beefy Deputy, grabbing Adam's hand with one huge paw and practically shoving Adam in to one of the police cars. “Mind your head.”

Adam hated this even more than before. Here he was, about to be corralled in to a police car, his cameras removed… what the hell would people be thinking? There were people around, and some of them were looking. _God-fucking-damnit,_ he thought. The door slammed shut, trapping him in the car. He could feel his face heating up, and he grew increasingly nervous. Just sitting in the car felt terrible. It was an experience, he'd very much like to avoid in the future. He heard as the cameras were put in the back seat, like they were criminals themselves. Just as the car was taking off, he swore; remembering he forgot to tell them about the fact that one of the cameras was in fact, not his. _Not mine. Fuck._

The ride was short, but awkward; a couple of times, Adam felt like he would pass out. He kept picturing that poor girl, in a number of horrible situations, and he squirmed in his seat, wanting to just get out there and find her. How he wanted to just scream out his frustration, but he settled for tugging on his hair instead; a little pain outside to equalize the pain inside. The masochist in him wanted to just smash his fact against the glass, but he was afraid he might look crazy—pulling out his hair was about as far as he was willing to go.

“Hey, Lurch,” called Adam to the guy sitting next to him. “You got a bottle? It's just, you're gonna have a very wet seat in a couple of minutes if we don't get there soon.”

From his side, the Deputy never even looked in his direction as he pulled out a plastic bottle, threw out the water through the window and tossed it carelessly in to his lap. “Have a-way at it, small fry.”

Not really in need of a piss, Adam was surprised, and indeed checkmated by the seemingly slow-witted meatsac. He didn't quite know what to do. Awkwardly, he grabbed the empty bottle, and just held it, tapping against his knee. Although he was nervous enough to want to piss his pants, he held back. The guy wasn't playing in to his hands like most people would and only ignored his every uncomfortable squirm and exasperated sigh and taunt. As they drove on by, Adam took note of the parked van—Ian's van—and pointed it out, but again, was completely ignored.

_This is not going to end well, oh no. Man, I hate cops._


	27. Nothing Important Happens

If Lawrence had warned Adam once, he'd warned him a thousand times. He knew by now that it was pointless nagging him; he was a grown man, and if he wanted to go out again, under the knowledge that there was a possible snowstorm on the way, then he was under no power to stop him. Actually, he rather liked the free spirit, fuck-you personality Adam had. He was a rebel, and Lawrence was a good boy. He was attracted to that, because god knows he'd been anything but good behind closed doors. And when he closed the door behind Adam that morning, he sighed, and pressed his forehead to the door. He didn't want Adam to go out; yesterday he'd come back soaking. He was worried he'd make himself sick trying to middle-finger the expectations set on him to be a house-ridden victim. Then there was Lawrence, with no choice but to be that, and while he wouldn't call himself a victim, he certainly wasn't happy with being left alone.

Setting himself things to do, he'd washed the clothes (including his own) and just before noon, he was sitting at the kitchen table in his boxers, socks, and a vest, dialling numbers in a little address book he'd barely been able to hang on to. The police, the FBI wanted to remove it to reduce the risk of Lawrence blowing his cover, but he really couldn't just throw away all his contacts, especially not when some of them were still useful.

Reminding himself to get some clothes on before Adam arrived, Lawrence made a call to his former wife (he couldn't say ex, yet,as they weren't divorced) and it took a long time before anyone picked up on the other end.

“Larry?” Came Alison’s weary voice.

She sounded tired. He paused before answering.

“Larry, this isn't a good time,” she sighed. “What do you want?”

“Well,” started Lawrence, as calmly as he could. “I'd like to catch up. Maybe talk to my daughter a little. I might be miles away, but I'm a phonecall away. I'd like her to remember I'm her father, and I love her. And I miss her.”

There was some noise on the other side of the phone; Alison was likely busy and he'd called her away from her activity. He felt guilty, but held strong; he wanted to talk to her, as well as Diana. He wanted to know how things were, and if his daughter was coping with the move, or if therapy was working for Alison. More importantly, he wanted them to know he still cared, and that he was—and would always be—an ever-present part of their lives.

“She's starting school, Larry,” she said after the awkwardness passed.

Lawrence didn't know what to say about that. On one hand, he was glad; she would be catching up on the education she’d missed and make all sorts of friends, and live a normal life—that's all he really wanted for her, as a parent. On the other hand, he was sad; he wanted to be there for her, and to see her make these milestones that he was no-doubt missing being so far away. He swallowed the lump in his throat, nodded and stayed strong. This is a good thing. What does it matter if you're there or not? She's doing good.

“That's good,” he said quietly.

“In two days,” continued Alison, opening further. “I met with the teachers… they want to put her in special grief counselling groups, and after-school programmes.”

“Well, did you say yes?” Asked Lawrence.

“I had no choice, of course I said yes; she needs help. More than you, more than me. She might be dead right now, but instead she's alive. If she has to put up with being hand-led everywhere, then it's worth it if she has a chance at getting over this.”

“Yes, of course,” replied Lawrence, sadly.

Deliberately, he was keeping his opinions to himself. He didn't want to start an argument—not when she had the petty power of keeping Diana away from him (not that he thought she'd ever do something like that; her opinion of him, no matter what it was, did not affect his ability to be a father) if she wanted. More so, he wanted to keep things civil. He'd done enough to her in their marriage that he felt he had no right to decide what was best for their child. He trusted her.

“I'll get her,” she said, sighing.

Diana had been told to never refer to the man on the phone as ‘daddy,’ if there was anyone but the family in their company. She was smart, and she’d had accepted the rules as best she could. Being almost killed had a way of making children mature faster. Lawrence hated that. He hated Zepp, and he hated that Adam had to kill him and put himself through that, otherwise, if he wasn't bleeding to death at the time, he would have murdered Zepp, and felt no regret. The only regret he had, was that he hadn't killed him. Every time he heard his daughter’s voice on the phone, damaged from screaming and crying, he felt rage, and he felt the tears spill down his cheeks. It was why he always had to take these calls alone.

“Daddy?” She whispered, almost in disbelief.

Lawrence's smile beamed, “yes, baby, it's Daddy. I miss you. Are you being a good girl?”

“Hm-hm,” said the girl. “I miss you too. Mommy says I can't talk long cos we have an orr—orrheentashun, and ow, she's brushing my hair right now, hehe.”

“An orientation? For your new school?” Asked Lawrence, smiling.

“Hm-hm, ow, and we’re going to be late…”

“That's alright,” said Lawrence. “I won't be long, I just wanted to call, to let you know I'm thinking about you. I love you. Have a good time, okay, and your Mommy will call me later so I can tell you a bedtime story, and you can tell me how it went. Okay, sweetie?”

“Okay,” she said. “Love you, Daddy. Mom is saying we have to go—bye, Daddy!”

After the phone call was over Lawrence went to fix himself a snack. Without Adam around, there wasn't much else to do. He picked up a newspaper that was delivered to the mail slot and dispassionately turned pages with one hand while eating soggy cereal with a spoon in the other. He was utterly bored, and consumed with worry for both Adam and Diana, who were his most loved, and we're both away from him. The distractions were minimal, and before he'd even got on to the second page of the paper, he was thinking about Adam again; the sweat running down his back; the way his mouth hung open when he came—he shook his head, and tried to think less sinful thoughts, no matter how much his cock stirred in his pants for more.

Eventually, on page three of the very thin local paper, Lawrence's brows furrowed at the sight: a black and white photograph of a duck cleaning itself on an icy pond. Under the picture was Adam's name, and a caption: ‘photo of the week.’ It was a lovely picture. He wondered when and where that was taken, because he certainly wasn't there. It made him feel left out, and rather increased his loneliness.

Dumping his spoon in the bowl with a loud clink (and a splash of milk), Lawrence swallowed down what was left in his mouth with an unhappy grimace and pushed himself up away from the table. He felt useless.

An hour later, Lawrence had tried out the shower and this time didn't slip. He was careful, slow, and getting angrier at his body more and more. He dressed in a pair of charcoal colored sweatpants and a blue tank top. He was determined to work out while he had the space, that way he could distract himself, and improve upon his body. As a doctor, he'd not had much need for this kind of thing, but, getting older, one foot, he needed to push himself further if he hoped to resemble a whole man again.

He created a very simple programme for himself, with a few chairs placed along a line for him to grab on to if he fell, and he walked that imaginary line, controlling his breathing and walking at a steady pace. On his feet were a pair of new sneakers, which he had difficulty lacing up, so he just stuffed the laces down the sides, and in his hands he held the cane at first, before graduating to nothing. It was a difficult transition, and he wasn't at all confident walking without aids, but his natural patience allowed him to walk. He moved one step at a time, at a snails pace, with his arms out to balance, and still wobbling if his legs moved too far apart. He'd done one lap from the door to the couch, and fell down on it, breathing hard and sweating; his shirt was already suffering a wet patch at the chest and back.

A few vitamins later and Lawrence decided to rest.

He sat on the couch, letting time pass by bit by bit; thinking about doing some sit-ups, but blowing the idea off and instead he put on the television and sat down on the floor with a pained grunt and started working on his stretches. He might have started with the stretches first, as the number one rule went in physical therapy, but he felt confident and he didn't think he'd have nearly half the difficulties that he did. The trouble was, he replied too much on sticks, on his cane… on anything but his own strength. He got cocky, that was all. Stretching lasted half an hour, and it was a bitch—he gave up and pulled himself back up.

  
It became apparent as he was laying there, that the place still needed attention. He busied himself in bringing out a few plants he'd had stored in a box and he set them up around the place, and then he found himself at the door to Adam's room. He thought about calling him, but didn't want to be a bother. What he did do, however, was cautiously open the door. The room was very much still in the demo mode given that so little time had been spent in there. He sat down the bed bed and smoothed down one corner that had become creased. Where is he, he asked himself worryingly. He'd asked him to not be gone too long. Sure, two hours wasn't that long, but to Lawrence, and his complex relationship, it was difficult to come to terms with. He was taken right back to his fearful loneliness in the time before Adam found him hiding there.

Knocking on death’s door, Lawrence's wheelchair jerked with inconsistent determination as he FBI transport vehicle deposited him and his belongings outside the small safe house.

“Would you like some water, Doctor?” He was asked.

“I want Adam, damnit,” growled Lawrence. “I need to know where he is—I need to know he's safe. You don't understand, he's not himself, he'll need me there when he wakes up, to make sure he doesn't go completely crazy…”

He was infuriated. These agents didn't understand Adam like he did.

“Mr Faulkner, or whatever his name is, will be fine. Agents are watching him and he has a team of doctors who scarcely leave his side. You needn't worry about anyone but yourself now; your safety is integral in our case.”

“Oh, your case!” Spat Lawrence, stopping his chair in the small kitchen and turning to face the agent. “Damn your case! What am I supposed to do here without help? And how will your agents, and your doctors deal with a man whose sanity snapped there along with mine? No, I need to contact him…” He said, only barely aware that he'd already done so, hastily before they finally caught up with him.

“That, is not a good idea,” warned the agent. “At least separated, we stand a chance at nailing this guy when the time comes for you both to bring your experiences to evidence. Your family too, have asked that you remain far away for the time being.”

Lawrence growled again and turned away shaking his head. He knew Alison couldn't stand looking at him anymore, the way he (or rather, what he looked like) reminded her of her own nightmare. He'd been selfish, he decided. Diana was more important to him that Adam, Alison, the FBI, Jigsaw… any of it. He sighed and nodded in agreement. Adam may be safer away from him, like they were.

“We’ll have undercover agents checking up on you from time to time,” said the man, going over to check the security; one door, one window. “But apart from that, we’ll leave you be, as even our presence may raise suspicions in a place like this… interesting choice, by the way,” he added, turning up his nose. “I would have told you that a place that has familiar connotations to your history may not be wise, but I suspect you knew that. We were just thankful that you agreed to do this at all. Don't worry, we'll get this guy.”

“The way he was,” scoffed Lawrence. “You'll be lucky.”

He hoped Adam would find him, but at the same time, he hoped he'd find somewhere else to run away to; a new name like himself, a new identity, non-traceable, unlike himself. He watched as the agent (an older man with gray hair and a moustache) walked around and searched the house for alternate access. The place was a fire hazard nightmare, but it was secure, and at least that was something.

“Could I move out of here?” Lawrence asked, already glancing with distaste at the cracks in the walls and the peeling wallpaper. “When I get back on my feet?”

“Sure,” said the agent. “Just get yourself settled—a low-key name will keep you anonymous, and once we give the all-clear, you're free to go anywhere you want work wherever you want… keep us informed and we won't have problems.”

Lawrence knew all this; he'd had it explained to him a thousand times, but one could never be too well informed, he knew. He'd seen apartments on the other side of town that looked peaceful, and reminded himself to call them up sometime in a few weeks after his focus relied less and less on getting physically well. Until then, he'd busy himself in the local area. He'd still got a boat moored there, and while he dreaded the rental fines and courtesy tips to the cleaners and maintenance guys who'd looked after his daughter’s namesake, he would feel no less disturbed out at sea than on the land that did this to him.

Adam's helpless, pleading sobs had haunted him endlessly; seeing a man brought to the very edge had its way of bringing two people eternally closer. They were connected through instinct and survival, and glued with brutality. Lawrence cared for him, as he was bound to, and maybe even expected to after working together to stay alive in that porcelain hell.

“Are you alright?” Asked the man behind.

“What an inane question,” said Lawrence dismally.

The FBI agent was standing by the door, preparing himself to leave, a severe look on his face when he said, “I'll be in touch, and so will you, if you know what's good for you. See you, Doctor Gordon,” he said, and left the building.

Alone, Lawrence sat up from Adam's bed and looked in sorrow, away from his memories and towards the exit. But, he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave the softness of the bed. It was a comfort to know that Adam used this bed. He slept in it, and woke up in it. It was a part of Adam, and just by sitting on it, Lawrence was closer to him. Foolish, he told himself, wiped his eyes and left the room, quietly as if he was guilty. Adam's fine, he'll be back like he promised, don't be so weak.

The phone call that came as soon as he'd finished closing the door to the room had caused his heart to momentarily stop beating. He held his chest to calm himself from the shock, and moved over to answer the phone. At this stage, it could be anyone: Alison (though highly unlikely), the Police, Adam, the Police and Adam, random number… it was these thoughts that made him quickly answer.

“Yes?” He asked, pausing to listen.

“Doctor Follmer?” Asked a young female.

The fact that his false identity was used to address him, he could only assume that this was someone local, or at least someone who didn't really know him. She sounded like she was reading his name off a card—trying hard to pronounce it correctly. He simply replied, curtly, but politely: “yes.”

“This is Amanda from the hospital,” she said.

Oh, right, thought Lawrence, remembering. He was still a long way off being even potentially capable of working with them, but he didn't need to tell them that. On the phone, he made a sound of acknowledgement and said, “oh, right. Is there a problem?” He asked, and moved to sit down.

“No, no problem,” said the girl. The sound of shuffling papers followed. “I am just updating our records, and I need to confirm a few details with you.”

“Right,” he said. “Go ahead.”

She asked his name, age, and current address, contact number, etc.

Lawrence hadn't a problem with giving her this data, since she already had it, and all she was looking for was confirmation. He'd kept them updated on the change of address early on as he did, in his usual timely manner. It was, for all intents and purposes a routine phone call, and he was very much used to them. He was pleasant enough, but kept his answers short and to the point, to avoid needing to repeat himself.

“Okay, thank you Doctor,” she said, and hung up.

Giving himself a few minutes to sit and drink coffee, he considered leaving the apartment (not to look for Adam, because he was sure he wouldn't let himself be found if he didn't want to be) to pick up a few things. It was immensely boring sitting around all day, especially for a doctor who spent much of his life with hardly a minute to himself. He wanted to be able to go out, get a hobby, and do all of those things he'd missed through his marriage and work, to explore and find a new path. It was pathetic, he thought, to devote all his time to Adam, who must have felt suffocated by his overly-clingy affections. It wasn't a surprise that he needed his alone time out there, and he supported that. So why shouldn't he be able to move on with his life too? Because of a little limp?

Adam was working, assumed Lawrence, as he was still contemplating sending out the search party. His hands were deep in soapy water for the second time today (just keeping busy) with his shirtsleeves (the blue shirt he'd put on) rolled up to the elbows. It was pointless, working to keep his mind off of worrying, but he couldn't help it. He kept hearing his crying, terrified voice calling to him. For a long time those old horrific scenes had been kept at bay thanks to support and Adam's company, but they crept back sometimes during the lonesome insecure moments he had to go through. The feel of the water on his hands reminded him of blood, and when he looked down, he saw the redness drenching up to his arms, and flinched; fell back and just barely caught himself from falling with the chair. He did, however, catch his wrist on the corner of the metal sink.

There was no blood in the sink before—the weak moment caused a brief flash of ugly hallucination—but there was now.

“Come on,” he huffed, rolling his eyes, then wincing in pain and holding his wrist to his shirt to quell the bleeding. “Get it together.” Sitting there, he reached over and grabbed a dish towel to wrap around his wrist. It was only a small cut, no veins open, but it stung and there was a good flow of blood, now soaking his shirt and dripping from the towel and on to the tiles. “Idiot,” he called himself, with a spiteful shudder.

Lawrence sat there, nursing his wound and stewing in self-pity; clumsy idiot. He was angry with himself and he took that anger out on a glass that sat on the table—no longer—he swept it off the table and it shattered against the side of the dishwasher. Suddenly he felt gripped with an inescapable loneliness that made him throw his head back and just… sigh, with as much misery as he could muster. He missed Adam. Adam, gone for no more than three hours; he'd already hurt himself, and was missing him. Perhaps he'd made a mistake in bringing him there with him, but he couldn't believe that deep down. Down there, in the bathroom, with nothing but each other… how was he supposed to cope without him?

Telling himself to pull himself together was one thing, doing it was quite another.

With the towel, he created a tourniquet to restrict the flow of blood and effectively stop the bleeding (which it did), then followed the difficult task of managing to navigate the apartment with the cane in one hand. His left hand, which was tightly pressed to his chest to keep the towel in place could no longer be relied on for backup; he needed to lean heavily to the cane to prevent falling, and eventually he made it to the lounge, where he sat on the couch and dropped his cane to the side. He leaned back with a relieved sigh and clutched his hand, with the other. He was vaguely are that he would need to clean the kitchen later, and wipe up the blood spots and get a new shirt, but, excitement over for now, he switched on the television and caught up with the news—nothing important happening today.

Not only did Lawrence not clean up the blood before the knock on the door, but he'd fallen asleep, and the abrupt sound had woken him up from a welcome rest. His heart raced with excitement and fear. What if it was Adam? Maybe he dropped his key. Maybe it's the Police. Maybe it's nothing. Eventually the insistent knocking beckoned too strongly to just sit there and think about it. He carefully rose and without the cane, stumbled over the room to the door.

Peering through the door, Lawrence was met with the somewhat vaguely familiar face of the FBI agent—his handler—undercover, dressed like a civilian and wearing a tool belt. The disguise at first puzzled the former Oncologist, until he put two and two together and unchained the door to let him in, not willing to discuss business in the corridor. The agent eyed his towel-wrapped hand suspiciously as he closed the door behind him and followed Lawrence to the kitchen where he stood by the table.

“You're looking well,” he said, noting Lawrence's ability to walk again.

Lawrence only sneered, plainly disapproving of the man's presence. “What are you doing here?” He asked, trying his best to remain composed and polite, but it wasn't easy, considering the circumstances. “You are supposed to call.”

“Apologies,” he said, quickly. “But I just needed to make sure—with my own eyes—that you now reside at this address. You see, I could have called and you may have not been here. I was in town and you were on my agenda. Nice place.”

Although Lawrence was lonely, this was the kind of company he did not appreciate. He was patient in his tolerance of his presence, and said nothing as the man scoped the place out. He felt violated when the man wandered in and out of rooms, but he sat firmly in the kitchen, refusing to react.

“You, er,” he said, returning to Lawrence. “Got a guest? I was informed that you weren't living alone anymore, and it appears that’s true at a glance. So, where is he?”

“I'm sure that's none of your business,” sighed the doctor, rubbing his eyes.

“You're right there, but Mr Faulkner is under our protection, even if he refuses it. It would be a comfort to confirm his location and status as well as yours, Doctor. His mental well-being is an important factor is my visit, actually. I would like to meet him, judge for myself how is is adjusting to life on the outside, for lack of a better comparison. You are one thing, but he is quite another. I just don't know if I can approve of this arrangement; without psychological conditioning, he may not—”

Here, Lawrence drew a line. He could judge him and the way he chose to live, but without Adam there to defend himself, he would not allow any assumptions to be made. He clapped his unclothed hand down on the table top and said, “look. I'm not going to sit here and pretend that he and I are alright, but we are doing fine without anyone's help, thank you.”

“Hey, don't get me wrong,” said the agent, raising his hands. “I'm not just sticking my nose where it doesn't belong—but without a correct induction in to the Witness Protection program, he's liable to blow your cover… and that might be hazardous to our progress in catching this guy. I don't need to tell you that this character Adam, isn't a very subtle man—he's still using his own name, and now he can't be found where he should be. I can't legally make him do these things, but I would hope that you, at least have realized that his presence here, and his activities could—could—draw unwanted attention to you.”

“You aren't telling me anything we haven't already considered,” Lawrence slowly said. He pinched the bridge of his nose and then ran his hand down his face to scratch down his slightly grizzled chin. “We're aware of the risks.”

“Is having him around really that important to you that you are willing to potentially ruin all the work we put in to hide you and what we do to keep you safe?”

Lawrence laughed, “I'm sorry, but it is. Yes,” he started, lowering his head slightly. “I find that you can even ask that question, a wonder. Try asking me that again after you spend hours locked up with someone and hearing them scream, cry, and not coming to care if they live or die. I do care, and we happen to be getting along fine, by the way, and the only reason he isn't here right now is because he is working.”

“Whoa—whoa,” said the agent. “No need to get personal. If he's not here, he's not here, I just thought it was a good idea to check in and give you that message. So, he's working? That's… a reasonably healthy sign; maybe I overreacted.”

A nod from Lawrence initiated the end of the conversation.

“I'll be leaving,” he said, ensuring his disguise was still in good order. When Lawrence made a move to stand, he quickly instructed him to sit. “Oh, no—don't bother getting up—I can see myself out, thank-you. Just remember what I've said.”

Lawrence would remember. He would remember but he still didn't agree. Things were no longer that dire, he thought. He and Adam still had a lot of work ahead of them, but they were squarely on the road to recovery. He didn't believe that Adam was a risk to their safety. They were in fairly isolated place, watched by cops and the FBI; anyone would be a fool to take them on twice. No. Jigsaw had had his fun. The news reports were a testament to the fact that he'd moved on to other fucked-up individuals. It didn't matter anyway, Lawrence didn't plan to disregard what he'd been through—what they'd been through—just to watch his own ass.

After the man left, Lawrence was left to think about their situation. He asked himself if they were really safe there. Maniacs—not just one—roamed the streets in every corner of every part of the world. The pessimistic side of him loved to think that just stepping outside was a threat to one’s life, and indeed a few weeks ago he would have thought that way. Now, however, he had other, more realistic concerns. He missed Adam, he missed his family. Adam was now a part of that family, and the only one he'd got at hand. He couldn't lose him. He couldn't tell the FBI agent that—he wouldn't understand.

It was in the middle of this thought, when the phone rang.

“Hello?” He answered, a little tiredly.

A child’s voice replied: “Daddy?”

Lawrence immediately perked up.

“Diana, sweetie,” brightened Lawrence. “It's so good hearing your voice! How are you?”

“Daddy,” giggled Diana bashfully. “You heard my voice earlier…”

“True, but any time away from you feels like forever,” he said, warmly. He was smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt. She always had a way of making him do that. “Did you go to your little meeting at the new school—what was it like?”

“Yes!” She said, gleefully. “Everyone was really nice, and the school was really big and at first I was scared but the teachers were nice. I met my teacher for the first time, and she was nice too, and said I had pretty hair!”

“You do have pretty hair,” said Lawrence. “And a pretty smile, and pretty teeth… hands, ears…” he paused to enjoy the painfully distant sound of the girl's hapless giggling, even quietly chuckling along with her until he finally asked: “Is your mom there?”

Then can the sound of shuffling around and a clipped, “bye, Dad! Love you!”

“I love—” he said, but she was gone, replaced by a strange cold sensation in his ear.

“Larry?” Came Alison's voice. “I swear, this child of yours.”

She sounds livelier, at least, he thought. “Now she's my child?” Laughed Lawrence. He could hear Alison on the other end, shooing Diana out so she could speak on more adult concerns. When the noise settled, he asked her, “How did it go?”

“Fine,” she sighed. “She kept saying she wished you were there, and I told her you couldn't but you wanted to be. She was right about the teachers—they were nice—they were so nice I was feeling like a bit of third wheel. They asked her a few questions—nothing too invasive. They even asked how I was. I think it'll be a good place for her to start school. It's not far either, so no one has to worry.”

“Good. That's… good,” sniffed Lawrence. “I'm glad. She seemed happy. That's what really matters.”

Alison swiftly changed the subject, “she wants you to visit over Christmas, but I told her that you weren't well enough to travel yet, and she would need to stay here in order to keep up with her school work.”

Lawrence nodded; it hurt him like hell to know that he would have to be away from his daughter over such a joyous season, but he had no other choice. He squeezed his eyes shut and swiped the coming tears away with his thumb. “Yes, I understand that. I-I am getting better, I will be up and about in no time—tell her,” he said, urgently convincing himself more than Alison.

“I know, I know, I'll make sure she knows, but I won't let her get her hopes up.”

“You're a good mother,” he said, honestly.

“I try,” she said, wearily. “I have to go. You… you are alright, aren't you?”

Lawrence flinched; he hadn't seen that question coming. “I… yeah, yeah… I'm doing better,” now that Adam's here, he wanted to say. If Adam had been there, he may have. “A few obstacles never stood in my way.”

“You were always so determined…”

He smiled; he thought she sounded nostalgic for a moment, and it made him think back to an early time in their marriage, when they were in love, and they admired each other for their qualities, and focused with less intensity on their flaws—which had existed, they just hadn't surfaced.

After the phone call was finished, and Alison hung up, Lawrence sighed and flopped down on the couch. It had been an eventful morning. His wife and daughter were on the right path, fixing their problems without him. He was glad. He was glad that wasn't there screwing up their lives anymore.

There still remained a piece of him unsatisfied, however.

Adam _still_ wasn't home yet.


	28. Bad Magic II

Adam had been sitting in a cell for the past two hours. He had been nervous going in, and even more so the longer he spent inside. It was a big, old west monstrosity, with iron bars and a bucket in the corner and everything—designed to be as miserable as possible. Adam was sat on the floor in a corner, the sole resident of the piss-stinking cell, hugging his knees to his chest, shaking like a leaf and trying not to cry.

He'd told the detective, adamantly: “I don't know how those pictures ended up on there—that's not even my camera!”

The cell reminded Adam of so many wicked things. The darkness, the smell, the atmosphere, the fact that he was locked in, unaware of whether or not hell awaited for him on the other side of the bars. He kept hearing his voice, taunting him with evil games. Hearing Lawrence's furious screams and the spray of blood on the tiles… Jesus, he wanted to die down there. So much pain… so _much_ …

“Sure,” said the Deputy who was backing him up.

“Really,” Adam argued frantically, panic beading in sweat on his brow. “T-that camera was that guy’s camera. Y-you had three cameras, didn't you? Yeah, well two of them were mine—two of them—the other one was his, I was just holding on to it for him. I had no idea what was on there… otherwise I would never have… never… oh, boy…”

“Oh, boy,” whimpered Adam, rocking back and forth in his cell. “Oh man, oh man… need Lawrence—hey, when do I get my call?” He yelled at the guard outside the bars.

He needed to get out of there.

Rushing at the bars, he began to rattle them.

There was only so much Adam could put up with; being set-up was one thing, being ignored, was another all-too irritating insult. He was so sick of people not listening to him. An hour in a cell and he had swallowed the urge to be polite right down, and suppressed it. Instead, he shouted, and screamed; picked up the bucket in the corner and threw it against the bars. He was making a hell of a scene, and he knew that (from experience) the more noise he made, the more likely to would be that someone would give up and take notice. This was a very serious situation, where he had been discovered with a camera containing pictures of a missing girl, and he was not about to be anybody's scapegoat. His plan, however, backfired. When instead of arriving to release him, he was perpetually ignored, like a child. Finally, tired, distraught and pissed off, Adam sat heavily on the green-cushioned bench with his face in his hands, despairing any hope of getting out.

For a further thirty minutes, Adam sat there, barely clinging to the edge of sanity before the Deputy showed up at the bars, a smirk on his face. The Detective came soon after. Adam glared at his cage for a while before the stare-off ended, and the sound of the door unlocking resounded in his ears. He walked up to them.

“Am-am I being released?” Asked Adam, with all the tenacity of a beaten dog.

“You got lucky,” said the arrogant, asshole Deputy; he handed Adam back his two cameras.

“The pictures on the other camera were time-stamped two days ago, three days ago, a month ago. We've got no reason to believe that you took these pictures, and then hand yourself right in to our hands without running for it the first moment we stepped on the scene. You say the camera doesn't belong to you, I'm inclined to believe that. The problem is, though,” he said, pulling open the doors for Adam to step out. “This guy Ian… I know him. We all know him. He's been at a lot of events, and a lot of functions...”

Adam stopped at the door, which was for a moment blocked the the Detective's body. He was looking down at the floor, an unreadable expression on his face. Yet, he looked almost human, his eyes no longer piercing, but frail. Adam was affected more profoundly by it. “What's wrong?” He asked.

“Including my own daughters sixth birthday six months ago. He was there, and I spoke to him myself. So I know for a fact that the camera was there because the pictures are present on the reel. Now, it doesn't prove anything, as it is his job to take pictures of children at parties, but… the last few… If you'd follow me, I'd like you to have a look at them. Your opinion, as a photographer, may help me get a handle on this situation.”

“Holy shit,” gaped Adam. He nodded. “Y-yes, sure, of course. But… and I'm just checking... I'm free to go, right? Not just gonna decide you'd rather arrest me—the stranger—as opposed to someone you know?”

There was some spite to his comment, but he was just eager to get the hell out of there, as he hated being cooped up. He followed them down the hall, passing other cells (all empty) and several officers. The Deputy was at his back all the way, and he swore the man was purposely prodding him in the back. It made him nervous; he wanted to turn to him and shoot him a look, but it didn't matter anymore. I'll be out of here soon… soon, then I won't have to look at your ugly-ass face again. He'd follow them anywhere if the promise to get back outside remained true. He held on to the happy thought that maybe in a few hours, he'd be back home, watching shit on television with his best friend—it felt like forever since he was last there. Of course, first there was business and paperwork to be taken care of, and he hoped the girl would be found soon—he didn't think he could go back to that, without knowing she was safe.

It was the same room that he'd been interviewed in; he'd been forced to tell them about his legal relocation, and after his insistence that they call the FBI to corroborate his story, they had dropped the bomb about the photographs, and the whole thing had been dropped, so his cover hadn't been entirely blown. Honestly, he was glad. He didn't like to think what Lawrence would say to him if he'd been telling the whole town of their situation. But, it didn't matter, the police left it alone, probably believing him after all.

The roll of film had been held in front of Adam's eyes so that he could see the last few shots taken of Juliette Bowen for himself. They were right to be suspicious. They were not normal photographs. For starters, they were unclear. Some were blurred, or obscured, indicating they had been taken from the shadows, or bushes, and hell, that brought back some bad fucking memories for him. And many of them were taken candidly, he was sure. He didn't take these, and from the fact that nearly all of them had been taken over a period of months—before Adam ever came to town—it ruled him out.

“Asshole’s setting me up,” he mumbled, putting the camera on the table and sliding it far away from him. “Giving me this camera knowing the cops were around… must be a real sloppy criminal if he thought I'd just take it.”

“I'm inclined to believe you,” said the Detective, gravely. He shook his head. “Did he tell you anything—before he left? Like, where he was going.”

Adam shook his head; shrugged. “Doesn't matter, he probably lied if he did—I saw his van parked by the side of the street when I was being “arrested,” so either he's around there or he ditched his van. You should probably start there. Can I go yet?”

“Yes, you can go,” said the Detective, holding up a warning finger. “But don't get any more involved with this than you already are. If this guy is around, he’ll probably know he can't use you as a fall guy anymore. It'll make our jobs go much faster if you just… go home, and stay there—don't talk to anyone about this either; privileged information.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” doesn't mean I'm gonna listen. “I've got a whole lot of nothing I've been meaning to catch up on.”

 

Wasting no time in getting out of the station, Adam's steps became increasingly urgent; his breathing more rampant; his brain empty—it had to be for him to even consider doing what he was about to do—concerns thrown aside. Even his better judgment told him to back away before he got even deeper into this, but even he couldn't reason with himself anymore. He walked all the way back in to the central part of town, and only when he saw the shape of the abandoned van by the side of the road did he look up to the sky, and feel the icy wetness of snow melt against his cheek.

Fucking fantastic, he thought, and did his best to ignore it and moved on towards the van. Even in the distance, it looked ominous; like perhaps it had been left just for him to find. He half-expected, when he moved towards the back, that some hooded, steroid-pumped freak in a hog-mask would launch itself out at him and drag him back in to that dirty hell. He shuddered at the image, and halted his steps before he got too close to find out if that paranoid delusion could be true.

“Come on Adam,” he told himself, under his breath. “This isn't even the worst thing you've had to do.” He reminded himself not only of plunging his hands in to toilets, but taking pictures candidly. Why did he need to do this so badly? To defeat a certain ugly puppet-loving demon’s pitying expectations of him. He could get on with life; he could face things that were scary—and not be constantly reminded of his failures. It was almost childlike; his deep inhale, so deep his thin chest puffed out, and his chin pointed upwards in determination. He marched towards the van with his hands clenched in to sweaty fists at his sides, and only stopped again when he brushed his knuckle against the door handles at the back. A cold chill broke out against the back of his neck. He shivered, and felt faint, but he tugged down on the handle—not expecting it to be open—it unsurprisingly didn't give. Instilled with more confidence, he began to yank hard on the door handles with a firm, desperate need to open the doors. They rattled and shook, but didn't open.

Adam grunted in annoyance and threw himself away from the doors before he started kicking it, or some other compulsive action that could have made him further doubt his sanity. Taking another heavy exhale, Adam walked around to the front of the van, and first peered in through the windows. It was in a dismal state, with torn upholstery and frayed leather. More importantly, there was a thick crack running across the drivers’ side window… _you can't. Why not?—this is important. But vandalism? It's not public property—he can sue my ass if he ever shows up_. After brief and wavering bargaining, Adam brought his bony elbow to the glass, shielding his face with his open coat (not realising that if the glass did break, it would fall inside, not outside) before he changed his mind. A sharp pain sent him hissing, and reeling, holding his elbow. The window was harder than it looked. Plan B involved him picking up a heavy stone from the side of the road that he'd dug out of the frigid soil, and trying that. It worked. After several beats against the glass, the crack suddenly widened and split, and in a blink of the eye, the window was no more, just shards against the soiled seat and bare floor of the drivers’ side.

It was fair to say that Adam didn't have a clue what to do next. It seemed unlikely that he'd get this far, but he had, and he needed to think for a moment. No, no time to think Adam, there could be lives on the line here. He managed to drag his ass through the open space where the window once was and found himself scrambling through the glove compartments, and overhead compartments like a man possessed. He had to blank his mind from thinking too much, otherwise he'd lose his nerve, and this was far more important than a little breaking and entering even if he was mostly a stranger in this element of ‘detective’-work. He rummaged through papers, bills and more bills, old food containers and empty film reels until he decided to check the back. He had to climb over the seat, and just by the fact that he could, told him that Ian’s initial show of struggling to squeeze all the equipment in there was false—there was plenty of room.

Suspicious already, Adam pushed aside the obvious obstacles, making so much noise he doubted even the dead didn't hear. He didn't know what he was looking for, a clue—anything! He picked up several cameras but found them empty of contents, which told Adam that the man had likely indeed dumped a highly contagious camera on him and had left as soon as the police arrived, thinking they'd have all-eyes on the stranger in town. They had, and he'd took off along with any evidence when he hastily pulled up at the side of the road. Adam decided that this man was sloppy. Even he knew that if you wanted to dispose of evidence, you'd do it as far away from the crime scene as you could. Then again… he must not have been thinking clearly… he was nervous, panicked. Maybe the evidence in here was not his top priority…

He left the van through the back doors, which he managed to open from the inside. A few things fell out on to the sidewalk, but he didn't give a shit. He kicked them aside out of frustration and pulled on his hair, wondering what the fuck he was doing getting involved in this mess—he wasn't a suspect anymore—why bother? Well, for one: he knew what could happen when an ineffective, blue-tape police force focused more on the paperwork than on getting the job done. He had a personal stake in this. It was his way of saying fuck you to the police, and the FBI who failed to do their jobs, and to those who didn't look hard enough for killers who might be kidnapping young girls and torturing grown men, while they argued and ran around evidence like headless chickens. They were idiots, and fell for traps. How could they claim Jigsaw was not technically a murderer? Of course he was. You can't arrest a gun company just because they built the gun that once killed a man… but this was different; Jigsaw had pulled the trigger, directly, or indirectly—he was responsible. In this matter, however, Adam's personal stake in finding a missing child paralleled his own experiences, and he just couldn't let this injustice happen while he had a brain smart enough, and a resolve strong enough to change the way the tide flowed.

No matter how much he wanted to—he couldn't back out.

With the formerly confiscated cameras returned to him, Adam carefully photographed the scene, only regretful that he hadn't taken pictures of the vehicle before he smashed the window. It revealed nothing new to him, he thought, until he found himself sitting by the roadside, and caught sight of what appeared to be a smudge by the edge of the curb on the other side. Zooming in, he made out what appeared to be the fading heel of a booted footprint. He swallowed, and cast his lens towards the direction they had gone.

In to the woods, thought Adam, dismally, as he looked at the multitude of skeletal trees that littered the unmarked trail. The ground was at a steep incline, and there was mud, unlike the frosted grass where the jacket had been ‘found’. It wasn't far from there, and conceivably, this was where the jacket had really fell. While trying not to slip down the increasingly steep hill downwards, he held his digital camera firmly and followed what now became very clear sliding footprints in mud. It scared him to think that he was on the trail of a psycho, who may or may not have prepared for this eventuality; psychos had a tendency to be exceptionally intelligent, so either this man was the exception, or Adam was missing something… prints, ditched vehicle, framing… It all seemed too obvious. He got the feeling that he was dealing with a first-timer, or someone who really was a spontaneous kidnapper who got in way over his head.

No matter, the hill was too steep and now even wetter than before to climb back up, so he was stuck with seeing this through. His brain clicked on the moment he reached a dead-end.

The rusted railing stretched for miles along the outer edge of the docks, where frozen water had locked in a row of old boats down below where Adam stood, trying not to slip on what appeared to be ice on the ground, which had become concrete. The wind picked up, and he had to hold on to the railing for fear of the slippery ground working with the wind to sweep him down in to the bay. There was nothing in front of him, just frozen water. Behind him, the mud-encrusted hill leading back up to the road. That only left the two directions either side of him, that was left and right. He couldn't see the end of either—they went on and on.

As he began to develop concern that the missing girl had strayed from her friends and slipped down here after all, ending up drowned, his legs automatically paralyzed themselves to stop from the same mistake happening to him. He began to hyperventilate as the gruesome image of a child's purse, half-submerged in the icy water became a reality. It was her purse, he saw, with a mounting sorrow. Clasping a hand to his mouth, he covered a series of shaky breaths while he composed himself. _It's just a purse, just a purse—doesn't mean anything…_

He decided to go right—towards where the older photographer had said he'd found the discarded jacket. Again, it seemed plausible, but Adam doubted that he ‘just happened’ to find it, all muddied, when it was dry where he said he'd found it—no mud. There was mud here, where Adam had found opposite the parked van.

The path he'd taken was freezing, and it made Adam regret certain decisions he'd made. Lawrence and the warm apartment that he'd barely spent any time in seemed awfully inviting right now; he imagined leaning up against him, just sitting around. It made him utter a longing whimper, and he stamped his foot childishly. _Couldn't leave it alone, could ya Adam? Oh, blow me. You know this is important—a missing kid. You're just looking for an excuse to not be around him, come on._

Adam had no reply to that, instead he continued on with a greater resolve to just… do something. He just walked, continuously until he either found something, or something found him. He walked faster than he ever had before, using the legs that had once been bound up, grateful now only to his cowardice that he wasn't nearly as brave as Lawrence to dismember himself. He used those legs to the max these days, disliking being cooped up in the apartment, disliking standing still. He used them proudly and strongly.

Eventually, he came to notice the way the boats below him were frozen… yet there was a trail… as if a boat had recently set sail and broken through the thin sheet. A footprint of another kind; it wasn't much but it was all he had—he was, as usual, desperate. For the first time, he noticed numerous sets of metal bars fixed as ladders going down from where he was, to a lower platform, totally covered with ice. Of course, he thought. Of course there has to be a way for the boat guys to get to the boats… he didn't want to go down there, as the platform looked to be about the width of a plank of wood. He continued on instead, following the boat’s trail until he found its location and then he'd work out the rest.

When it seemed that the trail was becoming cleaner, Adam stopped. The railings seemed to end at a ninety-degree angle up ahead and continued on a tight curve where there was a small lighthouse platform on the same path he was traveling.

Immediately he took several pictures of the tall white building at an angle, while he kept on walking towards it. Over the side he was getting hotter on the trail, and his heartbeat quickened to a dangerous pace. He hoped this was it. At this time of year, when the boats were grounded, in a way, it seemed unlikely that a lighthouse would be operating, especially since all the boats in the area were local and had no business to do across the water. Nothing coming in, nothing going out. Adam's suspicions were automatically drawn to the mysterious boat, and why it was moving around in such dangerous conditions. Where was it going, and why?

The lighthouse wasn't as big as some he'd seen, but then, this wasn't an international port that really needed anything so weighty as a full-force light source. It was, however, winter, and the light was disappearing fast. Adam swallowed hard, suddenly aware that this could be hazardous. With no light, no clue, and no idea, he'd be stranded out here until morning—in which time, Lawrence would no doubt have sent out a search party and the criminal will have gotten away. Still, he got a grip of his nerves; there was still a good hour away before visibility was even slightly reduced. He made a deal with himself: if he couldn't see the boat on the other side of the lighthouse, then he'd follow the path leading to the lighthouse and back to the road and reluctantly surrender. It was a flimsy deal (as he knew he'd never surrender) but he didn't know any better way than the dying light to push himself forward, and forward was around the lighthouse.

On the opposite side, Adam peered over.

…No boat.

At least, there was no boat there. Backtracking a few steps, he looked down over the edge as far as he could, without letting go of the guardrail. Bingo. Right beneath him was a boat, and a set of ladders heading down to it.

Adam was startled to see a figure emerging from the boat—a man. No, two figures. He scrambled away and took cover behind the lighthouse when it appeared the man and his small captive were reaching out of the boat for the ladder. He couldn't control his breathing; he was scared, confused. The man carrying the girl out of the boat, he saw, was not Ian the photographer, but the quiet cop—the big one that repelled Adam's attempts at humor. He saw him from behind when he dared to peer around the corner. He was carrying the child—she looked to be asleep, but unharmed—on his back. Maybe they had got there before him? His legs started to move, but his feet froze; he couldn't flee, not when there might be more cops around—what would that look like? No, he stuck around, and stilled his ragged breathing; listened for what direction the heavy footsteps were headed, and he rounded the lighthouse to avoid being caught.

It was evident by the fact that by the sound of a door opening, that the guy was going inside the lighthouse—he was going inside, the lighthouse—and that only meant that he was taking her in there. Why? _Why not, now that he had her, take her back out to the road where no doubt there would be police cars scouring the streets looking for this little girl? Because, this guy must have been the culprit._

This revelation left Adam scratching his head.

_Then what about that guy, Ian? And his creepy-ass pictures of her? And where was he? Not inside the lighthouse?_

Unfortunately, Adam's veins were more full of fire than ever to uncover the truth here. He was a photographer, he was unusually inquisitive only when there was something new to be found. This was certainly different. Arming himself with his camera, Adam double-checked that the flash was on and cautiously moved around towards the door.

It was a solid, thick—yet hollow—rusted metal rectangle, and as Adam neared, he could hear faint voices muffling from inside. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but they were definitely arguing, and male. Without seeing, or even hearing well, he just knew that the other man who had apparently been waiting in there was Ian the photographer, and this cop… well, he wasn't exactly sure, but for the first time he decided against doing something stupid and risky. He waited outside and listened. As long as there was no alarming sounds, he figured the girl was alive, and that was the most important thing. But could he afford to wait? Go back to town, he told himself. Tell the police that… oh, yeah, like they'll believe that? You were supposed to back off, remember. Now you're gonna have to explain yourself, and do you really think that girl in there has all that much time before the lazy-ass pricks at the station decide to make an appearance?

Adam shuddered at the thought. He had no choice but to man-up and do something here and now while he still could—damn his own safety. It was stupid and risky, alright, but sometimes stupid and risky made bad magic in to golddust. At least, it did in the movies.

Upon pressing his ear to the door, he made out: “…your fault,” and “…don't you.”

Gripping the metal handle of the door, he could taste the metal on his tongue. There were so many unknowns working against this monumentally reckless decision that he couldn't physically move another muscle until he had clarity of mind. He closed his eyes; tried to focus his mind; _stop shaking… breathe… breathe… aaaaand, heeeere's Johnny…_

He opened the door. Everything from that point; slow motion.

The dimly lit room was larger than it looked from the outside, with a metal-barrier surrounding a spiralling staircase going up, up… at the very top was a door leading to the lighthouse room. Other than that, the building was unremarkable. The focal point for Adam's camera lens, however, was at the very bottom, in front of him, and the flash blinded all who looked at it long enough for Adam to get a glimpse. The girl was there (though he could only see her from behind as she lay on her side on a rat-eaten old bed), but evidently unaware of what was happening. There were two men: the cop, and the photographer. Both rendered puzzled and flailing madly in the dark like a pair of demons searching for their pounds of flesh.

Adam rushed in to the room, fear injecting adrenaline in to his bloodstream and even in his clumsy confusion, he found he moved faster than a fleeing rabbit in to the mad fray. In seconds, he was in, followed by a flurry of bright flashing, and he was out again just as quickly. The whole event was a blur, but he did not emerge with a small child in his arms, he was dumbfounded but couldn't stop running, and as evident, he was a much faster runner than his two fiendish pursuers. He had to leave her, as he couldn't have got hold of her in time, but she was definitely alive, and awake by the time he retreated.

Being in no position to fight, he ran down the cobbled path that wound up a long trail towards the lighthouse. He didn't look back though he could hear their beating footsteps and breaths gaining on him, and saw, out of the corner of his eye, a huge hand reaching out to grasp his shoulder. Taking evasive action as soon as he feel contact, he twisted around out of the grip, losing his jacket in the fist of the burly cop, but he used the confusion to run off-trail in to the trees. He could hear brief clamor; the cop telling the other guy angrily to go back and ‘check on the girl,’ but he never stopped running, hoping to lose him in the trees.

This was by-far not what he had in mind when he left home that morning for a simple walk and maybe some work, but Adam's former work had given him some experience in fleeing like his life depended on it, because more often than not, it did. His lungs felt ready to cave in inside his chest (fucking cancer-sticks) and there was a thick mucus build-up in his throat that was not only unpleasant, but obstructive to his already labored breathing. At least the ground was frozen solid, so that he was in no danger of slipping, he was able to just run along the incline with no trouble other than the trees that he had to swerve to avoid.

It didn't take long before Adam was aware that this man chasing him was a physically superior specimen; he needed to apply trickery and outwit the uniformed jock the same way he had to in high school. It wasn't hard, really, all he needed to do was duck behind a tree and stick his leg out at the right time.

Adam got up and took off running again in the opposite direction.

Like a wild animal he scurried away leaving the guy in his dust, giving himself precious time and space to adjust his route to a less obvious direction. Wherever he was going, it seemed to be working as he could hear the sound of footsteps grow fainter with each striding step he took; he was a short-ass but he could really move when he wanted to. Trees and more trees obscured his view so he just charged right through them and with some luck he found the road. He was completely dazzled by the sight; it was like he'd just stepped through in to another reality, where he was in a simple town with no worries and no concerns. Sure enough, the guy could chase him in to town if he wanted. That cop uniform was like a free pass, and Adam reminded himself that they had a lot to lose by letting him get away with the pictured he'd taken, and so he made off again, as quickly as he could to the police department, hopefully before his friend caught up and got there first. He was fearful that, even though he'd caught the real culprits, he may not be believed without proof; he tightly gripped the camera to his chest like it was made of solid gold and he walked the streets with criminals on all sides. What he held, was his salvation—the thing that might save more than one life at this stage, because he didn't know how far these guys would go to get that camera and to delete those pictures he had on there.

When he arrived at the station, he was breathing harder than ever (he'd ran all the way) and was nearly incoherent in his reasoning, although he did stop at the doors to compose himself before he went in there looking like a crazy person.

On the blue chairs to one side as he entered the building through the glass doors, he saw her; the girl’s mother. She was sitting there, makeup running down her face just like earlier. Adam couldn't pass her by and not tell her about what he'd come across, even if he thought it might be a bad idea to aggregate her in her state. He meandered over to her, and sat down next to her. Her snivelling seemed to stop when she noticed him, and her eyes widened when he handed her the camera; display set to one of the images he'd taken at the lighthouse. Holding the camera, she looked then to Adam.

“I-I knew it was him, I should've—Wh-where did you take this?” She asked, urgently.

It was the way she looked at him, that told Adam that she intended to go there. He asked her, “is this guy your ex?” He asked, taking back his camera as sensitively as he could.

She looked at him and began to cry again.

Adam panicked; he never was particular well-versed in comforting crying women. Hell, the number of ex’s he'd built up made that pretty evident. He searched around for a tissue, and quickly returned from the front desk with a nod of ‘thanks’ to the stern-looking girl who handed him one, seeing what was happening, and he sat back down with her, handing her the tissue. He asked, “and the other guy—do you recognize him?”

She nodded, holding the tissue to her cover the lower part of her face.

“Ian?” She sniffed. “He's the photographer, we've known each other a while, and, and well—I—is he involved in this too?” She sobbed.

“I think so,” he said, giving her space before continuing. “Look, I don't think we should talk about this in here,” he whispered, catching the eye of several passing policemen who gave him a look that he didn't at all care for. “Can we go outside?”

She nodded affirmative, and allowed Adam to lead her out of the building.

Outside, Adam looked around; he was still understandably paranoid that there were people after him. The snow was falling in slow torrents now, and the two took shelter under the large ‘POLICE’ sign. She was shivering, he noticed, but he had not warmth to offer her. Instead, he offered her information.

“I believe that your ex—is he your daughter’s father?”

“Yeah, he—he always said that he'd get her from me…”

“Hey—it's okay,” assured Adam quickly. “I think that he must have hired Ian to follow her—he stalked you and your daughter, and some of her friends, including the Detective’s daughter, and chose today, when you'd be away from Juliette's side, to…” he paused, realizing some of this might be mere speculation as opposed to fact, and since he didn't want this potentially misconstrued supposition to come across as fact, he tasted the words before he said them out loud. “I mean, I guess that he might have been mad at you—I don't know, I'm not here to judge—but he must have taken the opportunity to take her. But, he's a cop—he can't just skip town, right?—so they must have decided to stash her… shit, I sound like an asshole, but hear me out, alright? They must have stashed her at the lighthouse, because no one would be there, and so there could be other suspects lined up. Whenever there's a missing kid, parents are like… the first suspects, he was probably gonna wait until they found someone else to arrest (me, he didn't say), but it didn't work out because they hadn't planned it like pros and I don't know, the evidence they'd set up to frame someone else was too weak. They're probably at the lighthouse, preparing right now to get her on a boat and out of the way. I've gotta give these pictures to the Detective, or someone else here who can do something and not lock my ass up for defaming a cop.”

She got up to stop him, but Adam smiled weakly and hushed her.

“It's alright, I'm gonna give them this, and then they won't have anything to hide behind. The whole town is out searching for her, it's best that you stay here and soon enough she'll be brought back here. Stay here,” he said, backing away towards the front desk, aware that perhaps she wasn't getting up to stop him, but rather, to stop them. She reminded him of Alison. Of a woman who didn't give up when her child was threatened, and that, in this situation could only end in disaster. He didn't want to take her eyes off her; the way her eyes flared up, worried him. She was ready to get up and kick ass.

Time was short.

He had to look away towards the clerk at the desk, and reached over with his camera. The moment she saw this happen, she took off, out of the building quietly and out of sight even quicker, leaving Adam behind.

In the middle of showing the pictures to the clerk, he'd only just caught sight of the empty chairs, and he had to do a double-take to confirm her absence. Leaving the camera behind, he ran off after her. He'd told only briefly his knowledge of the lighthouse, and hoped that it and the pictures were enough to secure the force down to the scene before it escalated any further. He expected her to take to instinct and follow her urge to get her baby back, so he ran after her. Being faster, he caught up with her half way there.

“Hey—hey, hold up,” he panted. “Slow down, will you? He can't get away with it, the truth is out there now. What the hell do you hope to get out of rushing in there? I mean, I barely got away with my life, I don't think it's a good idea—”

She stopped, tensed her shoulders, then released.

When she turned to him, Adam was taken aback by the expression she wore. It reminded him of Lawrence when he got that terrifying call. The threat of ones loved ones was a force powerful enough to literally change someone in to something else. He saw the same hint of insanity in her eyes that Lawrence had. Boundaries had been crossed and there was no going back—usually. Gently, he took her by the shoulders. She was shaking. He repeated: “this isn't going to help,” he said, out of experience. “If anything, you'll put not only yourself at risk, but her as well. You never know, she may even have gotten away herself, or they had a change of heart… you never know…”

She breathed, and closed her eyes.

The insanity disappeared when she opened them, and Adam saw, with wonder, that he'd managed to talk her down from downing something crazy, and when she buried her face in to his shoulder, he put his arms around her to comfort her and keep her from shaking. At least there won't be any severed limbs this time…

Sounds of police sirens came roaring behind them, but they remained there in the middle of the road. The police cars raced around the two figures, and sped on down the road and towards the lighthouse. Adam breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes. For once, the police had listened to him, and taken action. He felt a comfort in that, at least, and if nothing else would be accomplished from this experience, it would be the understanding that comfort could be gained from diligence only; sitting on your ass never worked when there was something that could only be accomplishment with doing.

Arrests were made, and thankfully this time, Adam wasn't among them.

The police station was rife with activity for another hour, with one of their own being brought in in handcuffs; a mother hugging her daughter; another arrest of a local; the stranger in town, not only innocent, but being thanked as a hero by all involved.

Adam had to spend another hour in questioning, turning in all his evidence and his side of the story before he was allowed to go. It was dark outside, and snowing heavily. He was reluctant to leave, but the lure of going home to Lawrence was an enchantment he couldn't resist. Just before he had his hands on the handle of the police department door, he was stopped by a young girl, who had suddenly grabbed his hand. He looked down at the girl and smiled. It was the girl he'd help rescue from her overly possessive father. She reminded him of Diana, but the guy did most definitely not remind him of Lawrence. He'd never do something so cruel as to kidnap his own daughter to spite her mother.

“Stay safe, kiddo,” was the only thing he said to her.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the girl’s mother standing there, smiling, still crying. He smiled back at her but it wasn't a happy smile. It was apologetic. It said sorry you had to go through this. Her smile said something else: at least I have her back. If it wasn't for you…

Adam had to leave; he hated this love-fest.

Someone offered him a ride back home outside, which he politely declined. Hell, he even had a skip in his step as he journeyed on back home, threat demolished. There was a feeling of achievement, and he couldn't stop smiling. Even though it was fucking cold out, people had come out of their houses to shake his hand. He was a celebrity for these few minutes, and he was hella-determined to never say a fucking word about this to Lawrence… ever, so, he enjoyed it while it lasted. As someone who was generally a nobody, he was uncomfortable with all this attention, but then again, who didn't like having their five minutes that wasn't mired in infamy? _At least freaky serial-killer fetishists aren't trying to get my autograph... this time._


	29. Chapter 29

_Is he pissed off_? Adam couldn't tell.

The way Lawrence was standing there with a frown on his face and his arms crossed, tapping his (real) foot, told Adam: yes, Adam. I am. But Adam was still feeling pretty good to let this bitchy—and what time do you call this—Lawrence bring him down. Whistling, he took off his unusually dirty jacket and hung it up; removed the cameras from around his neck and placed them both on the counter safely, and then, everything else came off.

Lawrence had bit his tongue, wanting to scream at Adam the way Alison did to him when he was gone longer than expected, but his jaw went slack; Adam was undressing, totally and completely in front of him. His mouth went dry. He knew he was doing this just to get out of an argument, and damn it, it was working. When Adam first arrived, covered with snow, soaked, Lawrence's heart about stopped. For hours he'd been biting his nails, too scared to blink for fear of missing something. It was the same now. He couldn't blink, or look away.

_If he wants to stare, he can, but I draw the line at slipping dollar bills down my underwear_. He slid down his boxers too (there were no secrets in that area) and hastily dumped his clothes in a big pile and kicked them aside before marching around a very surprised Lawrence, paying the grumpy man absolutely no attention as he entered the bathroom at the side.

Lawrence huffed; apparently Adam was in no hurry to tender his explanation. After his hours of fretting and worrying, this was all he was going to get? A snide little smirk and a swaying backside? If this had been any other day, he would have been immensely turned-on by the undeniably sexy sight, but tonight… well, well… it still was, but he didn't have to act like it was, damnit. He can't keep getting away with this stuff. He was relieved, Adam was home—safe—and that's all that mattered. He sighed and hobbled over to the couch where he sat nursing his killer headache.

Meanwhile Adam, quite pleased with himself, showered liberally; taking his time to scrub the dirt off his skin and watch as the black water spiralled around his feet and was sucked down the drain. Jovially, he imagined Lawrence's silhouette behind the shower curtain, wielding a knife about to bring down and butcher him like in that one scene… he grinned. Lawrence did look like he wanted to kill you, didn't he? Yep. That, or ravish my ass. Really? You think he'll follow you in here? Nah. Wouldn't mind it, though…

As Adam was busy chuckling to himself, and not-so casually tugging on his ball sac, he thought about his quietly accepted hero status. Not many people got to help save the day. The high was wearing off, but his mood was still pretty good by the time he'd finished shampooing his hair and rinsing off. He decided that Lawrence at least, was owed an apology (or a blowjob, if I get off lightly) for his absence. It was a sobering thing to consider, and he turned off the water with a sigh, and mopped his face with the towel that he blindly grabbed from the rail next to him. Lawrence is in there… probably ready to be weirdly quiet all night. Fine. Fuck it, I guess I should say something.

After dressing (in a baggy white t-shirt and oversized blue sweatpants that rode low on his hips, and flapped around his feet) he exited the bathroom in a small cloud of steam, and vaulted over the back of the couch to join Lawrence in sitting there. Or rather, Lawrence was sitting, and Adam flung himself back with a can of Coke he swiped from the kitchen and threw one leg over behind Lawrence's head and the other across his lap. He cracked open the can and downed the thing at a frightening pace.

Appalled, Lawrence shook his head and said “Jesus.” He then shifted, irritated, and disentangled himself from Adam's legs.

“Well, what crawled up your ass?” Adam asked, leaving off his apology until Lawrence eased up on his bigger-prick-than-usual attitude enough to take it seriously. However, when Lawrence fatally glared at him, he was frantically getting in to a more appropriate and less sarcastic position, sitting up next to him, albeit, slouched.

“Who do you think you are?” Spat Lawrence. “Not only do you purposely disrespect my express plea, that you be back before noon, but you come in,” he swished his hands about exaggeratively. “Walking around like nothing is the matter.”

Offended, Adam shakily said, “well, I'm here, aren't I? What more do you want?”

“I want,” sighed Lawrence, with his face in his hands. “I want a little consideration, Adam, that's all. Could you not have conceived, in that tiny brain of yours, that I might want you here for a reason? I'm not trying to punish you. I just want you to be safe… and gone for most of the day is not what I call safe.”

As moved as he was, he couldn't help but roll his eyes; Lawrence was talking to him like he was a child—he hated that. Granted, he could have answered his phone, and he felt like a jerk for that, but he figured: “hey—I'm sorry (dripping with sarcasm), I thought you might appreciate a little time to yourself; catch up on your stories, take that croquet class…”

“Adam,” sighed Lawrence; he didn't have the heart to argue.

“No, I mean, I'm a grown, adult, male, fucking hell,” he said, letting his head fall back against the armrest, hand on his forehead. He didn't finish hit thought, he didn't want to finish it. Instead, he thought about it from Lawrence's point of view. Here he must have been, sitting around all day, worried sick… about him. About Adam. A grin appeared on his face so prominent, that there was no way. Lawrence hadn't noticed.

He raised an eyebrow at the inappropriate look on his face and said, “what?”

“You don't need to worry so much about me, man,” said Adam.

About to say something, Lawrence was silenced as he felt Adam's arm come across his shoulders. He had shifted to sit close to him. It was warm and wonderful. He wanted to be mad at him, but he couldn’t. There was some wicked, alluring spell working its magic and just had no way to control himself any longer. He reached over and pulled Adam against his chest by the back of his neck. He roughly kissed the top of his head, and held him there in that position for several minutes, until finally, he whined, “I missed you so much,” and Adam worked himself out of the headlock.

“Jesus—you're clingy,” scoffed Adam. He sat aside, away from Lawrence, but took hold of his hand to avoid the misconception that he was uncomfortable with him. “Look, I'm sorry, alright. It was… stupid. I said I'd be back, and I sorta thought I would. But shit came up, and I couldn't back out. I don't regret it, and I actually think I might have learned a few things. So, yeah it was a good day—thanks for asking, asshole.”

Lawrence blinked; he figured Adam was trying to deflect blame here, but he no longer cared. Worry and anger had dispersed, replaced by relief and as Adam said, clinging. Out of respect he kept his distance. Obviously, it would be a mistake treating him like an irresponsible teenager, and clearly he was just finding his way, so he backed off. He snorted: “I'm sorry,” and laid a hand on the younger man's knee. “How was your day?”

“That's more like it,” nodded Adam. “A bit more of that and you're wifey will be taking you back in no time,” he said with a subtle grin.

Grimly, Lawrence leaned back and put his hands behind his head.

“What happened to your hand,” noticed Adam, nodding towards the slightly bloodied makeshift bandage nee towel wrapped around his other hand. There was a chill over his skin at that moment, where he feared, and he couldn't help it—he leaned over, practically straddling Lawrence’s lap as he pulled the hand from behind his head and took it over in to his own hands; turned it over like carefully like a fragile thing.

“Oh,” played Lawrence, not wanting Adam to make a big deal out of it. “Just clumsiness, really,” he said, wincing as Adam began unraveling the towel. “Don't worry about it.”

“Don't worry,” repeated Adam, slowly. His eyes were hypnotically fixed on the hand, and the relatively fresh cut just across the wrist. It was kinda beautiful, in a morbid way. It was the same with Lawrence's foot, he found it… interesting. Probably some mental scar still fucking with my brain, he thought. Whatever it was, he just liked touching Lawrence, and the scars, the damaged tissue; all painted a truer picture of the man's struggles. They told a story, and no matter how dark they were, Adam was a part of them. Adam was a part of Lawrence, and even if that concept was difficult to grasp, it was true. He wanted to touch Lawrence's scars, and fix them; fix the external abrasions of another man whose pain was linked to his pain, ergo: fix the internal scars within himself.

Sweat beaded on Lawrence's brow. Adam was feeling his fingers, and running his fingertips over the lines of his palm, and the veins on the back of his hand. It felt painfully good. When he leaned down, to see what was so damn fascinating about it, he ended nose to nose with Adam, and wide-eyed.

They stared.

Adam looked back down at the hand in his own, and then back up to Lawrence's blue pools. He couldn't help it; Lawrence looked so fucking innocent sometimes, like his eyes lived in a world full of color, devoid of greys, never knowing that most of the world waited like a crocodile’s jaws waiting to snap shut, and whenever something he didn't understand came to him, the confusion there was plain and clear. He didn't get it. Adam lived for this shit.

He didn't get why Adam would want to stare at him like that; he didn't get why Adam wanted to kiss his palm, or lick it, but that's what he was seeing, and his logical brain was fried. He watched, helpless as Adam's open mouth pressed to his wrist, and felt the hot spread of his tongue draw over the wound in agonizing slow-motion. All the while his eyes remained locked on his, unable to fully read the look in Adam's eyes. It scared him, actually. The focus was intense, and impossible to determine intent. It wasn't until Adam's tongue trailed up and down the inside of his thumb suggestively, that the puzzle fit. Even then, he was wary. Was Adam playing a game?

“Adam,” he said, but trailed off in absolute shock when Adam's lips sucked in his thumb.

Slowly, Adam descended, regretting his decision only because he had become very aware that this was a commitment he hadn't anticipated; what started out as a little bit of harmless teasing, became shameless worship. Maybe he was just that desperate for some kind of intimacy that his cock inflated from limp to full erection at the taste of salt on Lawrence's fingertips, or maybe it was something more complicated. Whatever it was, something was making him respond.

Mouth agape, Lawrence could only gawk in wonder as Adam sucked on his thumb, and then his fingers, one by one, each a little quicker. He would have found the whole thing amusing if it wasn't so damn explicit. It went on for a minute before Adam took in two fingers at once, then three, then four, then holy hell; saliva was spluttering everywhere when an overzealous Adam took it a bit too far and choked himself on all of Lawrence’s fingers. Poor Adam. Lawrence was up and immediately rubbing his good hand up and down his back. His face was red, but it was hard not to smile.

“Good god,” he gasped. “Are you alright?”

He was already gone before Lawrence could finish his sentence; away to the kitchen to gargle water before he coughed himself to death. “Dumbass,” he spat under the sink, feeling like an idiot. The one time he tries to do something unorthodox and freaky, he breaks his gag reflex (not that sucking anything else appealed to him enough to try it before now—but he always thought girls exaggerated. Come on, it's not that hard...) trust Adam. Good mood quickly diminished. He shrugged Lawrence away when the man came to his aid, offering him paper towels and a glass to drink from.

“I'll order us something to eat,” said Lawrence over Adam's shoulder.

Adam didn't say anything, but he appreciated that Lawrence didn't dwell whenever Adam did something stupid. Hearing Lawrence shuffling over to the phone, Adam lifted his head and shouted, “Chinese?” He didn't know if Lawrence heard him, but it didn't matter.

 

At about nine thirty, the food arrived. Embarrassment had subsided to a comfortable silence filled by television garbage. Lawrence was sitting on one side, with his box of Chinese food on the table in front of him, and Adam was sat at the other side with his legs up and his carton resting precariously on one knee. They were watching a movie—all action.

“Oh, come on,” growled Lawrence. “Like that can happen in reality.”

Adam tutted and shook his head. “It's not about realism, man,” he argued; Lawrence had been calling the movie out from the beginning on its basis in fact, and he'd about had enough. “You don't operate on people and expect explosions, do you? You don't watch movies to sit through some dickhead washing his hands for fifteen hours… it's got be fast paced to keep a generation of slow-minded pricks interested.”

“Ahh, I get it now,” said Lawrence, smirking.

“What?” Gawked Adam.

“You watch these movies,” started Lawrence. “Because you are a member of this generation of, as you put it, ‘slow-minded pricks,’ and you have absolutely no attention span to watch anything mentally taxing, or real.”

Adam scoffed and shook his head, “say that all you want, but you're the one with a brain too slow to pay attention to this fast-paced shit, so…”

Lawrence chuckled, and reached over, stroked the back of Adam's neck fondly, and left his hand there, eating the rest of his food one-handed.

After eating, Adam had lounged quite happily against Lawrence's side. He'd had a tough day, and this: leaning in to him, getting his hair and back stroked; it was exactly what he needed when he needed it. He wasn't going to talk back, or complain, and just feel loved for once in his miserable fucking life, even if it was with a guy he had every right to despise. The movie got boring and when Lawrence cleared his throat and announced he needed to get up, Adam opened his eyes and shifted away to his own side of the couch as fast as he could. Shit. Must have sat like that for half an hour.

Lawrence took care of the trash, and washed his hands before returning to Adam. He couldn't stay away, the warmth was too addictive. He broke apart only because of his growing awareness that at some point this had to end, and so he ended it before Adam had a chance to feel awkward. He did, however, stand there in front of Adam for about half a minute. He looked nervous sitting there alone, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants.

Not saying anything, why isn't he saying anything?

Reaching down, Lawrence touched the side of Adam's face, briefly, before he sat back down. It was an undeniably intimate touch that was made only more intimate by the locked eyes in the dark and shaking of breath. Neither man said anything on that, and they continued to sit there watching television.

Just before eleven, Lawrence turned the television off.

Adam had fallen asleep.

As much as he hated waking him… nah, he couldn't do it. He left the room and returned with a blanket, and put it over him after laying Adam down across the couch. He muttered something in protest, but Lawrence “shh”ed him until he just relaxed and fell asleep. If he had been stronger, he may have carried him in to his bed, but even so, a grown man didn't carry another grown man to bed, even drunk. He'd be fine.

Lawrence shut off all the lights except for one near Adam, for in case he woke up and wanted to find his way in the dark to his room, he set it to dim, so as to not disturb him too much. He was very tired, himself. A day spent worrying and taking care of matters was harder than it sounded. He laid on his bed, too tired in fact, to undress or even get under the covers. It was sometimes like this when he worked, but it was never so emotionally draining. He remembered being so cold, dealing with so many people that he just didn't have the energy to care about anymore, and being able to just shut it off. He shut off so much, even his love for Alison which had soured long before. The only thing untainted by callousness was his love for Diana; from the first time he saw her, he was in love. He knew then he didn't love Alison. He tried his best to provide a seemingly happy home, while living a double or even triple life, but it collapsed under the. Lies. He fell asleep somehow satisfied that he was living truthfully now, no lies.

In the other room, not more than two hours later, Adam stirred awake. His dreams faded, but he was glad to lose them as he awoke alone and shivering. Snow was battering the windows and wind howled. He wasn't scared, but there was an underlying threat about those things in the middle of night that was a bad omen.

Clutching the blanket over him, Adam scampered off towards his room where he could get behind a closed door. Moments later, he was out of that particular room and making his way down the hall to the other room. He just didn't care anymore, he was fucking cold and that was it. He didn't even try to be quiet; stumbling over things, bashing in to other things.

“Fuck!” he cried out after stubbing his toe on the corner of a dresser, and again after he caught his elbow against a sharp edge. In the dark he hopped along and crawled over Lawrence to get in behind him where it was warmer. Trying his best not to make any bodily contact, Adam laid up behind Lawrence, in parallel with him. Despite the cold, and the fact that they weren't touching, it was helping him reach a state of ease to which he felt he could comfortably sleep.

Lawrence, when he heard Adam rather noisily enter, had shifted closer to the edge, to give the younger man room to squeeze in. He didn't say anything or even open his eyes, he just laid there in front of him, and went back to sleep.

Adam on the other hand, couldn't sleep just yet. The idea to sleep with Lawrence was hasty and I'll thought out, he admitted. It felt strange, yes, but he was for the most part more disturbed by how easy he found it, how comfortable he was. Before, he would have found the idea repulsive at its finest, but now… It had become a normality. Strange. He closed his eyes and breathed along to the steady rhythm of the other man until he too was asleep.

In the morning, Lawrence was the first awake.

When Adam awoke, rubbing his eyes and yawning, he peered at Lawrence, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over. He too sat up, and asked, “hey man, are you alright?”

Turning his head, Lawrence smiled tiredly and giving him a nod.

“I'm getting up,” he said, not quite making the effort just yet. “Do you want coffee?”

“Please,” replied Adam, quickly struggling out of the bed to get in front of Lawrence. “But you gotta let me help you first.”

Lawrence nodded; how could he argue?

Adam wasn't very strong but he'd done this enough times to know how to do it. With hands under Lawrence's arms, he guided him up in to a standing position. Lawrence did the rest himself, thankfully—once Adam had put his cane in his hand.

“I'm just gonna… er, have a shower, so don't rush or anything,” said Adam scratching his head as the rather prickly morning Lawrence hobbled. Off out of the bedroom. Jesus, he looked dishevelled. Hair a mess, eyes half-closed… Adam had to admit, he liked it. He didn't really need to use the shower, but it was an excuse to do something he'd been putting off and was eager to complete. It was just fortunate for him that Lawrence was slow in the kitchen, that he could complete his business in peace.

Jerking off in the shower, he never quite got the hang of it; he was never a want for lubrication, and standing up was awkward. But it provided some privacy in an otherwise unideal situation. The jerking off was familiar territory, he could do it easy enough. It was the whole, pushing things inside himself that he required the shower more fore. He kept himself hard (getting used to the feeling of relating arousal with the otherwise unarousing chore) while using (rather inappropriately) the temptingly smooth handle of a shaving razor. He unclipped the blade and soaped up the rounded head, and… well, there wasn't much girth there, but he was able to thrust and twist inside himself with some ease. Jesus, so easy, he thought unhappily, making him wonder with sarcasm, if he should have been gay sooner. It didn't exactly feel good… but nor did it hurt. The same tingling sensation hit him the deeper he got, making him choke out a little whine of frustration that again, he'd become so depravedly queer, he got pleasure from misusing household objects.

Whatever, it worked, and still with the smooth metal sticking out of him, he pumped his cock as fast as he could, and fought through aches to climax all over the tiles in uneven squirts, which rolled down the walls in to to the drain.

Exhaling his relief, Adam stopped the water and stepped out. He dried himself off and wrapped the wet towel around himself while he peeked out of the bathroom, opening the door a crack to make sure the coast was clear. It was stupid and childish; Lawrence had seen him naked, so who was he hiding from? Lawrence was in the kitchen, frying something delicious-smelling. He had his back to the bathroom, giving Adam a clear path to the bedroom. He left a track of fading wet footprints on the polished hardwood along the way, but he got there and protected his decency, because, really, Lawrence didn't need to be seeing his shrivelled dick first thing in the morning.

Dressing in his usual homely style, Adam returned to Lawrence some minutes later, feeling refreshed. He'd almost forgotten about yesterday, but not enough to make him want to leave today. Nope. Today he was not going to hide himself away from probably the nicest guy in the world (when you got to know him) just because he didn't know how to deal with the way he was feeling.

“Here, go sit down,” he said, coming up from behind to stand next to Lawrence. “Get off your feet for a bit. I'm not completely useless—I can finish up here.”

“Adam,” said Lawrence. “It's okay, really…”

“Like hell,” said Adam. “Now sit the fuck down before you end up getting grease burns.”

Rather gruffly, Lawrence uttered a noise of wary compliance before stepping away to sit at the kitchen table. Yesterday's paper was there, and he decided to give it another look. Maybe finish the crossword there in the back. He drank from a cup of coffee he'd previously made. Adam's was sat opposite, but he hadn't noticed yet, so he cleared his throat.

Looking back at the notice, Adam raised his brow; Lawrence had in his had a steaming cup of coffee, and gave a nod in the direction of another similar cup waiting for him. He nodded gratefully, and turned back to dispensing the breakfast on a set of plates.

They ate in peace, except for Adam's near-ravenous eating style.

“Called home lately?” Asked Adam, not looking up.

Lawrence paused; unsure if Adam was asking out of polite conversation or just to dispel the quietness. He nodded, put down his coffee and said, “yeah, yesterday. Diana is starting a new school soon. She seems to like the place.”

“Hey, that's great,” said Adam with an honest smile. “It is good, right?”

Lawrence smiled and reached across the table, brushing his thumb over the back of the younger man's hand. “Of course. It's very good news.”

“Then why don't you sound that happy?”

Lawrence sighed; “am I really that obvious?”

Adam half-shrugged.

“I just,” he exhaled, and leaned on his elbows running hands through his hair. “I'm missing it. I'm missing everything. This should have been a chance for me to be a good father for once. But instead, I'm… stuck here, missing landmark after landmark of my only child's life. What kind of father am I, really?”

“Don't be so hard on yourself,” said Adam, quietly. “You're being a better father here, than you would be there. I'm sorry to say it, but you're marriage wasn't the best environment. She wasn't stupid, she knew something was up. It was only a matter of time before something happened. And your not a bad father, you're still there, just not physically… there. She knows you're still around and you're looking out for her. That should be all that matters. You don't have to be there.”

“I know,” said Lawrence obviously not believing.

Adam didn't know what else to say; maybe he was a bad father, but Diana didn't seem to think so. He didn't have to say anything else, surely. Adam wasn't a father, he wasn't ever going to be someone who spoke with experience, but he'd tried.

Breakfast was eaten and Adam washed up, while Lawrence had ended another state of melancholy. He sat on a small chair, looking out of the window. He missed her, it was for the best, but hey did doing what was right hurt so damn much?

He couldn't take his eyes of the scene. He looked so fucking hurt, with puppy dog eyes. Tossing the dish towel to the side, and decided he'd had enough and he stormed over to him. Lawrence glanced up at him, and again there was some spec of sorrow melting behind his eyes. Forgetting that he was going to shout, he had a hard time catching the older man as he threw himself up out of the chair and wrapped his arms around his waist. Lawrence’s was sobbing—fucking sobbing—against his stomach. He couldn't do anything but sigh, defeated, and pet the top of his head. “It's alright, man,” he said.

This went on for five minutes, with Lawrence sheepishly pulling away, pressing his hands down over Adam's t-shirt, aware of how badly it'd creased, and was now damp. He lifted them hem, and looked up at him breathing harder.

Adam was breathing harder too, but he didn't know why. He gasped out loud; an unavoidable response to the skilful doctor’s moving up under the hem of his shirt, roaming up and up over his smooth abdomen, further up to his ribs, still lifting the shirt up hooked under is thumbs. “Jesus…” He breathed, ragged and hotly. This shouldn't be affecting him like this. Lawrence was compensating—making up for his semi-embarrassing behaviour, filling the space left by one spent emotion with another. It shouldn't be making him feel good, sexy… but it was. He was in his hands, now, and it felt better than good, it felt exciting,and dangerous.

Eyes widened at the sight of that beautiful, pale skin, being exposed, more by the second. He looked so cold but he was so hot under the fingertips. Lawrence pressed the side of his face against the man's stomach, kissed his belly, all the while looking up at him—unable to see his face fully, but he loved watching his hands roam over that rapidly beating chest. And they did roam, brushing over the stubs of his nipples, causing a rough ‘ah’ from the younger man; around his back; up and down his hips.

“You're so beautiful, Adam,” whispered Lawrence, nuzzling harder again Adam's abdominals, moving one side of his face to roll over and enjoy the life under it. He licked it to his navel, kissed, nipped, left a wet trail all over his lightly toned stomach, getting faster, breathing harder…

“Oh, mmm,” Adam hissed; he had lifted the front his shirt over his head but kept it on over his arms. He queens his own nipples, hard, closing his eyes and rolling his head around on his shoulders; rolled his hips, pressing the now obvious bulge against his pants subconsciously seeking out friction. He'd jerked off not more than half an hour ago and he was already hard as a rock and leaving a wet patch through his underwear. He couldn't help it. He whimpered and bit his lip, giving himself over to the secret pleasure, he looked around, almost as if he was checking if anyone was behind him before he reached down.

Lawrence stopped his hands from reaching the waistband by grabbing them and holding them at his sides. His tongue digging wetly in to his belly button, he continued to stare up at him intensely. Adam was responding to this, he was responding to him. It dispelled his insecurities, and he reached down, not wasting any time pulling down Adam's sweatpants.

“Shit,” gasped Adam. He tried to reach to cover himself, but remembered Lawrence didn't want that. Instead, he stood there, in front of the sitting Lawrence, and distracted himself by looking out of the window at the snowy scene, because he was scared to see. He gasped louder, harsher; he cock was stroked through his boxers, slowly, oh-so slowly. “Mm, man-oh-man… you… ahh…” words melted in to garbled incoherence as Adam's hands tugged at his dark strands, just for something to hold on to.

It was insane, how wonderful Adam looked at that moment. Lawrence saw his eyes, flushed with arousal, and skin darkening around his cheeks, and the way his mouth hung open, shiny wet lips… he watched as the red tongue peeked out, as if it knew it was being thought about, and licked over Adam's bottom lip. He was envious of that cumbersome tongue. His hands fought blindly with the hard cock under thin boxers and in some vaguely teasing manner, he pressed his open mouth to Adam's clothed penis, and sucked hard through the the material as much flavor as he could. He tasted of sweat, and soap at the same time.

“Ah-Ooohhaah,” he mewled, like a damn cat, arching his back and drooling profusely (sucking it up noisily) as his prick was tortured in such a way. He fingers left his own hair and found Lawrence’s soft blonde tresses, threading through them repeatedly. “Lawrence, man,” he panted. “Pleeeease…”

Adam's pupils were blown-up, he had lost all composure, all dignity. Slowly, he pulled down the thin black boxers, until he saw the thin pink stick flick up and slap wetly against his abdomen. He didn't need to look away from Adam's contorting face—he didn't want to—his mouth moved on its own, seeking the hot rod like a heat-seeker; his lips fit perfectly against the side of his penis, and he locked on, sucking, and rolling his tongue against the fleshy tube. His lips glided sideways on, along the length, back and forth, while his hands smoothed against the base, rolled his balls…

How can he make it look so… Neat? How does he still look like he knew exactly what he was doing? He knew he was scared—he had to be—but he was the one becoming a total wreck with lust and. He was completely at the doctor’s mercy. Holy fuck his mouth felt good, and it looked… fucking fuck, he had perfect plump lips. How had they not given blowjobs before? It was a crime to waste them. At this rate he wasn't going to last long. He wasn't at all concerned any more that this was a man, or his best friend; he was very, very good at this, and he looked fucking gorgeous doing it. He really did. How was this man ever just constricted to loving one sex all his life? It wasn't fair. He looked like a freaking angel, combined with graceful ageing and surgical-God hands… he was right then, to Adam a divine being, possessed with every trick in the book, that mankind should never have been worthy enough to do with his lips and tongue, and hands. But he was doing all of them, and it was driving, him, crazy.

Unlike some younger men, Lawrence couldn't keep this up all, day; he wanted Adam in his mouth, now. He directed the firm penis towards his face and slid his lips up the length once more to the head. It slipped right over his lips, and he was left gasping, licking air desperately trying to get the wonderful piece of manhood back towards him. He mashed his cheek up against it, dragged his fingers up and down Adam's stomach before coming back down to assist. When he finally got the thing in his mouth, he moaned deep in his throat. He was so happy, making Adam happy; there was absolutely nothing weird or wrong about this picture, just him displaying as much love as he could, and Adam being wonderfully receptive. His cheeks hollowed as he went down on him, sucking Adam's cock all the way to the back of his throat and back, repeating the motion and sending Adam in to a frenzy.

Watching that blonde, but unmistakably male head bobbing up and down with such careful enthusiasm pushed Adam over the edge, and his spine jerked stiff as he came.

Lawrence saw the warning signs, and just before he came, he grabbed the base of his cock and squeezed his balls; looking up at Adam's convulsing body as he accepted the sparse wet jets of come. Each episode shot was uneven, painting over his tongue, teeth, and one hitting right to the back of his throat; swirling his tongue around the sensitive head, he collected all of Adam's come carefully, before swallowing it all down in one audible gulp.

Jesus, Adam couldn't take it; grabbing on to Lawrence’s shoulders wasn't enough to keep his knees from buckling, and he fell right there on his knees in front of Lawrence, collapsing in his lap as a mess of heavy breathing and shaking. “Good, fucking… oh, my fuck…”

Lawrence smiled tiredly, the task had exhausted him and he was sat back in the tiny chair, limp but his own cock and the hand resting behind Adam's neck. He collected enough energy to stop Adam however, when about a full minute of heavy-breathing later, his hands moved to reach for Lawrence’s belt. He sensitively took hold of both of Adam's hands and lowered them away from his own pleasure, giving him a weaker smile; the look on Adam's face was purely adorable: confused, and still flushed. He reached out and cupped his cheek.

“…but don't you need—”

Stopping him again, Lawrence grabbed Adam's face in both his hands and gently guided him up, to sit in his lap, never once breaking eye contact. “Don't worry—you’ve already given me everything I need…”

And Adam, who had been struggling to maintain some level of composure, failed, and just uttered a high-pitched cry as he threw himself in to Lawrence’s arms.

Lawrence’s arms immediately wrapped around Adam's back. He stroked the back of his head, and whispered “shh,” repeatedly, as the grown man continued to shudder and sob against his chest. He rocked Adam and himself gently back and forth, bringing them both to a state of ease, which was when he murmured, without thinking, against Adam's ear: “…I love you…”

Adam's uncontrollable shaking stopped at that point, and he breathed the slightest of sighs against Lawrence’s neck, before he slipped in to complete ease, and allowed those honest, thoughtless words wash over him, and it felt better than he thought it would. He smiled, and not only allowed Lawrence to hold him in this delicate moment, but he did the same, getting his arms around Lawrence’s shoulders.

His eyes widened slightly at that; it wasn't like Adam to show this much affection. Yet, he couldn't take his eyes off of Adam's in the following moments, only doing so at the height of the encounter, when Adam's eyes drew too close to see, and his lips were felt softly pushing up against his.

Adam was kissing him.

They sat there with each other for only four to five seconds, but in their own, insular little world, everything around them went black until all that existed in the vast universe, was them—no one else—and they broke apart. It was wonderfully easy, and it felt right for both Lawrence, who had wanted to—always wanted to—kiss him. And for Adam, who up until now, hadn't thought about it that much. Differing views finally met, and the two roads met at an intersection built by them, for them.

Only for them.

 


	30. Final Footprint (Epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit from Diana halts Adam's plans to get Lawrence in bed, but he realises that he doesn't have much to complain about anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. Apologies for the delay in getting this out. Final chapter. Shorter than usual, but what plot ideas I had evaporated some time ago. Thanks for those who made it this far in this beast. I started this as a bit of nostalgia and for the tenth anniversary of the movie. It turned out better than expected : )

 

If there was one thing Lawrence didn't see coming upon his return to work, it was the flashbacks. As he walked around the hospital wards (as small as they were) for the first time, he was reminded of himself as a younger man, how excited he was, how nervous he was. He'd become profoundly jaded since then, and he felt like a bit of a dinosaur, but he never forgot the feelings, or the smells. 

Returning home from a generally quiet day of simply being shown around, Lawrence was expecting Adam to be away again, but he wasn't. In fact, when he opened the door, he found Adam sprawled on the couch, playing video games and eating chips. He couldn't help but smile when Adam offered him a clipped ‘hey,’ and a half-assed wave. He really was like a kid sometimes. Taking off his coat, he moved to sit down next to him.

Adam briefly stopped from what he was doing and smiled at him.

“Adam,” said Lawrence, somewhat amused, somewhat tired. “Where did you get that?”

“What does it look like,” grinned Adam. The question was bound to come, and he had seen it coming. “While you were out,” said Adam, shoveling potato chips in to his mouth that seemed to come from nowhere. “Got a little extra cash from that little winter exhibit they were running—turns out my photos were the best.”

“That's great, Adam,” said Lawrence with a little pat of his knee.

“Yeah, so I'm taking a few days off. You got a problem with that, Doctor?” He asked with a smirk, emphasizing the word ‘doctor’ in reference to Lawrence's very recent venture in to work again. He had expressed his worries earlier, with telling Lawrence that he should be careful. He even offered to go along with him as his aide.

However the doctor only smiled and shook his head.

“How was it, by the way? You get to cut in to anyone?”

Interest then diverted back to the screen in front of him.

Lawrence chuckled, “no, idiot. Not on the first day. It was just an… orientation.” 

“Huh. You think you'll be going back?”

He nodded, “yeah, I suppose I will. They could use an oncologist around here.”

An unspoken agreement was made; an air of bitterness. Neither man would bring his name up, but it was clear his influence was still—and always would be—felt.

“That's cool,” he said, mashing buttons. “When are you going back?” 

“Not while next week,” he shook his head. “They want me to take it easy.”

“Yeah, that's a good idea,” said Adam. “I mean, it would suck for me if you spent all day and night there, you know. I'm kinda liking having you around these days.”

He couldn't help it, Lawrence laughed. “How romantic.”

“Deal with it—I don't do romance like normal people.”

“No, you do not,” agreed Lawrence. 

It wasn't an easy thing to admit, that he needed Lawrence. He knew it, but he couldn't say it—what would that look like? It had been three weeks since the time Adam came home late and got a surprise blowjob from the older man. Nothing major had happened since; Adam was keeping busy, but remained in contact at all times thanks to cell phone technology.

For a week, Lawrence had been making plans to have Diana visit, and she was due to arrive that day for the whole weekend. He had been excited, and couldn't hide his joy. However, he was also nervous; he hadn't seen his daughter for months, and he was scared to see how much she had changed—how much he'd missed. They'd missed Christmas and the New Year together, but the plans were difficult to coordinate with Alison over the phone, and travel plans had to be made. Alison was also extremely apprehensive about letting her daughter travel without her. Lawrence had convinced her to this weekend as a compromise and she agreed only if he was there to pick her up the moment she stepped off the bus. She wasn't due to arrive in town until later in the afternoon (it was a three hour bus ride) and he still had to prepare her room and get ready.

Adam didn't seem in the slightest bit worried.

“I'm going with you, remember?” Adam reminded, feeling Lawrence’s silence as worry. 

Lawrence blinked, and exhaled through his nose; he nodded and leaned over, touching the back of the younger man's neck affectionately. “And I am grateful.”

They looked at each other for a long few moments, sharing quiet compassion with each other that needed no words, just eyes and hearts.

 

  

A nice old couple had sat with Diana the whole ride, and helped ease her worries, but the girl looked a little lost when she stepped off the bus, holding her pink and transparent backpack to her chest defensively as she scanned around with huge eyes, looking for her father. People squeezed their way around her as they made space for her to get off. This was her stop.

“We can wait with you until your Daddy shows up, sweetie,” said a woman from behind.

“Honestly, who lets a young girl ride across country by herself?”—A voice whispered.

What a question.

In her condition, she no longer bore the noticeable aura of a bright young girl, but her mother’s meddling had to stop sometime. It was in fact, _her_ who insisted that her mother go to work and leave her be; there was a number of people on the bus that had given Alison peace of mind. They were good people, and they both had to learn to trust others at some point.

Diana smiled, “no thanks, I… I think I can see him,” she said, squinting.

As much as she felt her stomach knot at being alone, all this fussing was worse than at home. It made her feel safe, especially since the old couple were best friends and poker pals with her grandparents who also happened to be vacationing. Alison had agreed to let them watch her. 

Everyone was worried about Alison. She was greying and worn, but had to let go. She had to. For sake of her own health as well as her daughter’s future.

Was that him? He looked thinner, but his smile was there, and the warmth he radiated was felt across the road. It was scary seeing him hunched over with a cane. She didn't remember him being like this before, and just like that she was cautious.

Lawrence couldn't believe it was Diana. His Diana.

She was a full two inches taller and her hair was a little longer and straighter. It brought tears in his eyes.

Amongst the doctor’s greatest fears, were reliving that nightmare, and missing his child’s growing up. They matched each other in dread, gripping his heart with a stopping power so potent, he had a hard time not keeling over at the sight of the growing girl, who was rapidly becoming a stranger in his eyes. Of course, that didn't stop him from rushing to greet her with as much gusto as his diminished faculties allowed.

“Diana, honey…”

Adam barely caught Lawrence as the man fell to his knees in his haste to catch the young girl in a much-missed embrace. In fact, he didn't catch him, and he was left awkwardly holding the cane, which he had caught.

Tears were shed readily between father and daughter before Lawrence rose with Adam and Diana's help. He wasn't nearly as light as he looked, though he had lost a lot of weight thanks to the lifestyle he was forced to lead. Diana noticed this about him. She noticed, too, the brief frown on his face as he looked down at her. 

“What's wrong?” She asked, tilting her head. 

Imagine: what kind of mother could send a traumatized child on a cross-state bus by herself? Lawrence was furious, but for a moment; one glance in to those expressive, sad orbs, and he forgot. He'd have it out with her from the safety of a secure phone line later on.

Lawrence was surprised when Diana came to hug Adam, and he in fact, didn't seem at all comfortable with it, giving her extremely difficult pats on the head, like one would a strange dog jumping up at them. It was ridiculously sweet, and Lawrence couldn't help but join, putting an arm around Adam’s shoulders and laying the other hand on his daughter's. The cane just about smacked the side of Adam’s head.

“Watch it, assh—”

One sharp look from his friend/lover, silenced his tongue before he could say the unutterable. Instead, he smirked and leaned in to Lawrence’s warm side.

“Hey, kiddo,” Adam said, turning to Diana. “Wanna ride?”

Brows furrowing in mild puzzlement, Diana looked at Adam.

She didn't get what he meant for a while until she found, he meant his back. Adam asked Diana if she wanted to ride on his back. What a thought! The girl scoffed: “No, thank-you, Adam. That's for kids.”

Adam, not at all fazed, started walking with Lawrence. “And she's polite, too.”

Just as well, thought Adam: a growing girl, she'll probably break my stick of a spine.

Diana took to the apartment with dignity, she didn't race around checking out every room, or making a mess.

Gracefully, politely she sat on the couch; knees pressed together, hands on top. A perfect little lady. In many ways, this upset Lawrence. He could see her growing very quickly, and it hurt him. He sat with her.

“Well,” he sighed, leaning forward, chin on his cane. 

“Where's this little girl called Diana gone? You're a proper little lady.” Echoing his thoughts, he smiled sadly at the returned smile from the girl.

“I guess…”

From behind the couch, watched Adam, hands on his hips. He'd put Diana's bags on the kitchen countertop. He couldn't get over Lawrence. He looked so damn sad, and he should be happy! They all should be. He muttered, out of earshot:

“Adam to the rescue, I guess,” and quickly sat between the two, acting more like a kid than Diana ever had.

“Hey, Diana. Bet you wanna see where you'll be sleeping, huh? It's only a closet, but at least it has a bed.”

Who would have thought it, thought Lawrence. Adam. Good with kids.

“I have a bed?” She asked, blinking.

Adam expelled air though his closed lips, an action that broke a smile from the dour child.

“Of course,” he said, exaggerating the words in a mocking camp tone complete with lisp that made it hard to believe he was never gay.

“What is this? Eastern Europe? Not only do you get a bed, but you get… get this… a window, ooh! Come on, I'll show you.” 

And off they went, leaving Lawrence with an even warmer sense of melancholy. Maybe, if Adam could put on a brave face and deal with his kid, then maybe he could strap on a pair and stop feeling sorry for himself.

Rising, Lawrence was about to follow after the pair when he stopped. No, no… he needed a minute. Seeing her again, it filled him with joy, but he had a hard time dealing with it. He was still shaking, and he suspected Adam wanted him to have this time to himself. So, he sat back down and waited.

When they returned, they were both giggling, surprising Lawrence with a new atmosphere, which even brought out a smile in him. He turned to look over the couch at them.

“Is everything to your standards, princess?” 

Diana nodded and came and sat down next to her father again. He wondered if she and Adam had had a good talk in the few minutes in the bedroom, but he suspected they wouldn't tell him even if he asked. It was almost nice, how they had this little secret between them.

Though, he was still nervous.

 As it turned out, the night was delightful.

Diana and Adam spent much of it sat on the floor, eating snacks and watching TV with Lawrence sat on the couch, occasionally reaching down to thread his fingers through dark hair on Adam’s head. He leaned in to the touch like a cat. Doing the same with Diana only earned ire from the girl, who was much too old now for such childish treatment. Thankfully, it was dark enough that he could do the same for Adam without the girl being wise to it.

Diana fell asleep, surprisingly; leaning against Adam, and Adam, in turn, fell asleep leaning over with his head on top of hers.

Lawrence found the scene unbelievably adorable.

It provided more entertainment for him than the white noise on the screen anyway. He just had to snap a picture on his phone. The flash roused Adam, however.

“What’re you doing?” he mumbled, rubbing his still-closed eyes.

“Diana fell asleep,” said Lawrence, carefully rising.

When Adam looked over and found the girl sleeping next to him, he groaned a quiet sound of embarrassment, but didn’t move for fear of waking her.

Instead, Lawrence managed to scoop her up, which, was quite impressive.

Panicked, Adam stood up quickly and laid a hand on Lawrence’s arm. The man had stood without help and was leaving his cane behind. More impressively, he was holding a weight that could have been difficult to manage any other day. When Lawrence shunned a need for help, Adam went off and switched off the television and moved to open doors that may have been a difficulty for the man to pass.

Lawrence laid his daughter down on her bed as Adam covered her up.

“Good job, Daddy,” quipped Adam, slapping Lawrence’s hip with the back of his hand, which then found a grip in his shirt, keeping the obviously strained man upright for a while. “Here, let me help…”

Lawrence had no choice. Although he had come forward in great strides in his recovery since Adam’s arrival and subsequent moving in, he still should not be forcing himself in to situations where his control was questioned. Carrying her in to the bedroom was a challenge that he hadn’t anticipated, and he was grateful when the younger man’s body shoved its way under his armpit to steady him.

Off they staggered in to Lawrence’s room.

The light was off but that wouldn’t matter once Adam got Lawrence to sit on the bed for a moment.

Adam, however, had other plans.

Turning Lawrence to face him, Adam smirked and tried quite heavily to pull him down on top of him on the bed. Unfortunately for him, Lawrence held firm.

“Come on,” murmured Adam, biting his lip.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Adam,” sighed Lawrence, sliding his arms around Adam’s waist to bring the younger man flush against his body. “As much as I want to… I am not going to fuck you with my daughter in the next room.”

Sighing, Adam squirmed but did not attempt to pull him again.

Lawrence saw the childish look on his face and couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What?” Asked Adam, annoyed but pressing his face against his shoulder.

“It’s so hard to say no to you, do you know that?”

“Then don’t say no,” mumbled Adam, breath hot against Lawrence’s collar. “Say yes and fuck me in to the mattress. I’ll be quiet, I swear.”

Again, Lawrence, chuckled, more pronounced this time. He knew Adam was just teasing him, but that didn’t stop his cock from twitching in his pants.

Adam felt it too, as his hand slowly pressed down the older man’s firm chest, all the way down to the telling bulge, and squeezed, earning a low grumble. He squeezed again. It was getting harder thanks to Adam’s needy insistence.

“Adam, what’s gotten in to you?”

Lawrence’s resistance was fading, Adam knew, but the man was clearly tired, so he mostly gave up hope of getting him to fuck him tonight, but he would settle for something—anything!

Finally managing to pull the man down on to him on the bed, Adam ravaged his mouth hotly, wetly, pushing his tongue hard in to his mouth and holding Lawrence so hard that he ripped the material of his shirt.

The hot, warm mouth was needy and delicious, causing Lawrence to melt in to him, and roll on to his side so that his weight was not trapping him so uncomfortably. He couldn’t resist; a warm feeling in his gut and loins brought a heat to his body, a pleasant sensation of want.

The warmth collided, and from the loins it travelled upwards. A quiet comfort settled, where nothing mattered but this: the here and there.

Sighing, Lawrence pulled Adam against him under a protective arm. It was better like this. Nice. Adam was warm and compliant and his hair smelled both delightful and comforting.

After a long and peaceable silence, Adam spoke.

“Hey, Lawrence?” he asked, uncharacteristically sheepish.

Maybe this _wasn’t_ the right time for this. Figures, he thought: _the one day I’m horny enough and better judgment gets the better of me._

Lawrence didn’t miss the nervous little ticks here and there. Like now, he was playing with the hem of his shirt. Cute, but also worrying. He squeezed him closer, just enough to show he cared. “What’s that?”

“Is it wrong?”

“Is what wrong?” asked Lawrence, blond brows furrowing in confusion. Surely he wasn’t talking about this?

“That even now, I’m happy… but I shouldn’t be. And you, you’re a cheating, surly sonofabitch” he scoffed. “Isn’t that was was wrong to begin with? Taking life for granted and all that shit. I mean… I am happy. Like, really fucking happy… but there’s this weird-ass guilt still trapped inside. Call it Stockholm Syndrome, or whatever, but I kinda hate myself right now. There is so much suffering. Nothing’s fair.”

Lawrence stiffened.

He didn’t like where this was going.

“Adam…”

Sitting up, Lawrence groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t going to let Adam think like this; they’d been through too much together.

Adam was surprised by the movement, and so moved back on the bed to look at the older man, who forcibly gripped his hand. Looking down at the hand on his, Adam could not suppress the smile or the heat flushing his cheeks, but bowed his head to at least try.

“Yeah,” scoffed Adam before Lawrence could even begin his talk. “I know. Jigsaw is wrong, all that shit.”

“He is wrong, Adam.”

“I know. I get it. It’s just… I had a weird moment. You might wanna get used to it if we’re living together, man. ‘Cause there’s gonna be a lot of them.”

Lawrence breathed through his nose and smiled; a short sign that things were fine between them. He nodded and reached over, cupping a hand behind Adam’s neck and bringing him close against his chest again—he knows how much he likes that.

After what seemed like hours of just laying there, Adam finally sighed, a long, slow exaggerated noise that made the doctor open his eyes.

“Yes, Adam,” he muttered, chest rising with a quiet breath.

“We’d better be fucking like rabbits later, whenever that is. You’ll be impressed. I’ve been practicing.”

Another twitch.

Adam reached down and stroked Lawrence’s crotch with devious intent.

Lawrence took his hand and moved it, to his chest, leaving Adam huffing in annoyance.

“Nice try, grabby,” he murmured against his hair. “We will. Don’t worry about it.”

It sounded so sure, and firm. It sated Adam. For now.

 

 

The next week after Diana left, Lawrence was already up when Adam raced about getting dressed. He was stood by the kitchen counter, drinking a steaming cup of coffee, hair neatly combed, lilac shirt and tie—all ready to go, and looking about as normal as a newly gay man in his mid-late forties could look going out to work for the daily grind.

Adam was less put-together, scrambling, looking for missing articles of clothing, already five minutes late, hair a mess and face flushed with nervous excitement.

“Can't believe you let me oversleep, jerk,” he whined, hopping about as he struggled to jam his feet in to his sneakers and his arms in to his jacket sleeves. He succeeded, and was just about out the door when he turned to rush back, giving a hasty kiss to Lawrence, and then a clipped, “bye,” before turning back for the closing door.

“Oh, hey, before you head out… there's something I've been wanting to ask you…”

In front of Adam was laid the paper that had been in Lawrence’s hands. He saw on the front page: a grainy photograph of the town, and then next to it, his own picture, along with the caption: ‘LOCAL PHOTOGRAPHER HELPS FOIL KIDNAPPING PLOT.’

Fuck, he thought. Didn't anticipate this shitty town not having anything better to put on the front page. Of course, this was big news in such a small place. He shouldn't have been surprised, and indeed his poker face reflected none.

“Oh, didn't I tell you? I've been thinking about branching out; starting the world’s first photography-based child rescue agency, I might be overreaching here, but if the whole ‘amateur sleuth’ thing doesn't work out, at least I have options.”

“You're a devil,” glowered Lawrence, coming to trap Adam against him, and he did right against the door.

“And you're sexy as fuck when you're angry.”

“Don't try to flirt you're way out of this—I am not a traffic cop.”

“No? Shame. The uniform might look good on you… plus—hey—bonus: nightstick. Just be generous with the lube, I could use a smooth shaft.”

"Don't be vulgar," frowned Lawrence in mock-disgust.

“That wasn’t me being vulgar, Larry,” drawled Adam.

It was Lawrence who was lost for words when Adam’s finger trailed his lover’s bottom lip, slipped inside and slowly stroked his tongue.

Lawrence frowned but was too intrigued to stop him.

When Adam had finally finished his odd little inspection, he sucked on his own wet digit, locking eyes in the most mischievous way possible. _Now, who’s the tease?_

“Just so I can taste you all day,” winked Adam, working his way out of a stunned Lawrence’s grip and making again for the door, which he opened and slipped out.

Lawrence scoffed as the man finally left the apartment. Of course, Adam wouldn’t let him have the last word—that was his style, never to be outdone by anyone. It was only one of the many reasons why he loved him to death.

Suited him fine, it just meant he’d be left hard all day and with a renewed vigor, he’d be able to give Adam what the little nuisance deserved, which he’d probably like.

Straightening his tie, Lawrence took a backwards glance at the apartment they shared. No monsters in the closet—just clothes. No demons in the shadow—just nothing. No footprints left behind—only the ones that they would create together.

It was a remarkable, mutual determination to survive that brought them here, to a place that was an eternal eye of the storm, and they were forever linked by unbreakable chains that no saw could cut, no matter how insane the wielder.

 


End file.
